?

Log in

"I've made a huge mistake." [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Sean Dwyer

[ website | Sean's MySpace ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

Excerpts From An Excuse (Part VII) [Oct. 7th, 2007|04:58 pm]
Sean Dwyer
[mood |boredbored]
[music |"Samson," by Regina Spektor]

All right -- well -- it looks like my life is falling apart. I just needed to tell somebody, but, since I really don't have any friends who actually listen whatsoever -- I supposed Livejournal will have to do. I mean, I guess you could say that since things ended with this girl I was dating two months ago, I've been depressed. And, justifiably so, I figure. We did date for a year and spent a good deal of time together. Granted, towards the end, things between us weren't exactly stellar, but, still -- at least I had some that I could at least partially rely on. Now? Well, not so much. I really have nothing. More to the point: I have no one. And, no -- when I say "I have no one," I'm not particularly referring to a girl. I just don't like any of my friends. It's sad, that a lot of the time -- instead of calling someone to meet me for lunch -- it's just better for me to just have lunch by myself, instead of whoever I end up calling turns me down for whatever reason.

Not that I wasn't feeling this way before -- but, a lot of this comes in the wake of my most recent outing with my friends. See, this group of friends; back in high school, I used to have a great time with. But, since then -- with them being in a band, and stuff -- things have changed a great deal. Moreover, they've changed, I suppose. They've in a band, and have been for the better part of six-years. And, now, the only time I'm able to see them is when they're preforming, which isn't exactly ideal. Like, usually the way it works is I go out to see them -- they ignore me, and I'm forced spend the evening hanging out with their groupies and/or girlfriends. It's always the same, which is why I stopped subjecting myself to it. But, nowadays, without much else to turn to, I figured I'd give it another shot. Of course -- same result. It was a nightmare of an evening. Whenever I hang-out with them, it always makes me seriously reconsider my self-worth. But, an evening where people pretend to not hear you; don't make an effort to include you even when you're putting yourself out there, and treat you as glorified roadie can do that to you, I suppose.

That's it, I guess. I really don't feel like going more into it, as continuing to touch on the topic of how I have no friends depresses me. But, I felt like I needed to get it out in some form.

Thanks for not listening.

Sean Dwyer,
Sean Dwyer
link8 comments|post comment

Excerpts From An Excuse (Part VI) [Sep. 14th, 2007|09:46 pm]
Sean Dwyer
[mood |pessimisticpessimistic]
[music |"Part Time Model (You Could Be)," by Flight of the Conchords]

So, basically, this being single experiment is going -- um, not well, I suppose you could say. It's really a matter of not exactly being in daily positions where I can encounter girls, so much. I mean, sure, I go to school. But, unfortunatly, this current semester, the classes I'm enrolled in are quite informal -- whereas I don't really get much opportunity to really converse with other female students on a consistent basis. It's frustrating -- in these classes, there are girls all around me, but not a one, it seems, is accessible. Also, I'm starting to gain the immense understanding that not only aren't there any decent single girls at my college -- they don't exist in general. I know it sounds cliche: but, from my dealings, it seems every decent girl is already involved with some dude that doesn't appreciate her. But, I suppose that's how it goes. On the whole, girls don't seem super-interested in nice guys. And, yeah, I know that sounds cliche, too... But, really, it doesn't make any sense that I'm having as hard of a time as I am meeting someone: I'm nice-looking, funny, and I dress well. The math just doesn't add-up, y'know? Instead, it appears that girls view slightly overweight guys; clothes several sizes too big; going no where without a hat, as more desirable. It doesn't make sense to me. I guess girls just like choosing guys that aren't going to treat them well...? I don't know. But, I just don't get why this is so hard. Maybe it's due to the fact that I'm not far enough removed from my last relationship, and I feel icily desperate to nab someone right away. I guess it doesn't happen that way. But, really -- with me, and my looks, it should. Who's with me?

It just sucks not having someone to rely on, and just do stuff with: go to movies; go out to eat; go shopping; go on trips. I guess that's what I miss the most. I don't like rolling by myself places -- I always feel extremely creepy. And, I don't like enlisting my male friends fill this role, for the most part, it just don't work out the same. I know that the only way this feeling's going to go away is by finding some else, 'cause that's how it's worked with me in the past... I suppose that's why I'm placing so much emphasis on finding some else as soon as possible. Truthfully, what I should just be doing instead is taking advantage of this time, and take the opportunity to better myself. Yes. That is what I "should" be doing. Have I been? No, not at all.

I have a lot to going on with school, but, I really don't feel that any of it is worth writing about, for the most part. Sorry. Although, I mean, I guess if you wanted to hear one, I could tell them on request. So, I'll just wait for those request to start rolling in...

-Sean Dwyer
link2 comments|post comment

Bless This Mess With My Best [Sep. 9th, 2007|01:32 am]
Sean Dwyer
[mood |listlesslistless]
[music |"Somedays," by Regina Spektor]

Watching the Disney Channel on mute; lighting a floor that's in serious, serious need of cleaning. My rug's very heavy with things that more that likely should rest of shelves or hanging up in closets. I know this -- they scream to me loudly, "Sean, I've been here for weeks, and I'm tired of being trampled." But, I ignore them -- these clothes; video game controllers (ranging for PS2 to N64); empty water bottles; empty cardboard box from Dell; dog hair locked in boring battles with my rug, in the midst of the take over. My floor is crowed. My floor has taken on the role of the largest shelving unit in my household. It complains without saying a word -- it guilts me into looking at it. Maybe I'll clean it up two hours ago; it would surely be done by now. But, no, cleaning my room I will leave for another day -- I'll leave this job for a more ambitious version of Sean Dwyer -- one I'll certainly admire more than the one that sits in front of his newly arrived computer monitor, typing the words will put off another opportunity to better his current surroundings ... And, another. And, another. And, another.

It's not that I don't want to have a clean room. I do. I think everyone else would rather I did. It's more along the lines of a person who simply just doesn't care anymore. I just don't see a point at the moment. I have full faith this will change over the next couple of days -- but, for now, I'm actually impressed with myself and my devil-may-care attitude I've so cooly adopted. I think it's actually something more to the point where I've started to accept the fact that I am a little bit of a slob, without the burden of feeling the need to be embarrassed of it, or hide it from people.

Sean's so apathetic it hurts in places that only normally hurt when he jogs.

More on this story as it develops . . .
linkpost comment

Living Between The 4th's [Aug. 4th, 2007|11:26 pm]
Sean Dwyer
[mood |nostalgicnostalgic]
[music |"She Paints Me Blue," by Something Corperate]

Oddly enough, for some reason to which I'm unaware -- despite my four-year stint in the Air Force, and other excursions -- I have always managed to be home for 4th of July. It's never like I plan it that way; just somewhat-purely accidental. Looking back, where I was at a certain moment in my life can very much be defined by what exactly I chose to do on that given 4th. Whether it be with friends whom could care less that I was there, (speaking volumes of my treatment from friends back home while on my stay in Colorado) or, it being the starting point, highlight, or ending of whatever relationship I happened to be in at that time of my life. No matter anything else taking place in my life otherwise, I have always found time to watch the fireworks, and reflect. It's a good cross-section, I feel, for the person I was that year, and my collection of friends around me, good or bad.

It's almost as if I should feel silly for giving so much emphasis to such a worthless holiday, but I can't find much of a reason to. Part of me always wishes that I'll be able to find a child-like appreciation for the overall splendor of the 4th, and all that comes along with it; coming back to Buffalo and being covered by night sky and festivity. Granted, that I sorta'-kinda' hope that this won't be the case thirty years, or so down the line -- I strongly hope to be far away from here by that time . . . But, that's a story for another holiday-themed entry, I suppose. Maybe Thanksgiving.

Sean Dwyer,
Sean Dwyer
linkpost comment

(no subject) [Jun. 2nd, 2007|10:49 pm]
Sean Dwyer
[mood |accomplishedaccomplished]

I AM THE FOLK-LORD!
linkpost comment

(no subject) [May. 17th, 2007|11:42 pm]
Sean Dwyer
Moving out. I think I'm going to try. I just really can't stand my current living situation. It's awful. Like, really awful. At the moment, really, I'd have no one that I know of that's looking for a roommate, which, of course, complicates stuff plenty. Looks like Sean Dwyer's going to have try and go at this one the only way he knows how: Alone. And, damp. Damp, like a wet pile of bricks -- bricks that have never seen the shade. But, I digress. Where was I? Right, right, right... Moving Out. I may do it? Question mark. I don't know. From where I'm standing -- having done no prep work in terms of actually piecing what needs to be pieced together in order to perpetuate plans -- it all seems very much daunting. And, I don't much care of that at all. I want this all to be easy, knowing it won't be. What, maybe I don't want it bad enough? Maybe that's just my problem. Maybe that's reason I don't want anything at all; I'm so grounded by my current living situation, I just can't inspire myself to much of anything. It's sad. But, I suppose Uncle Sean's in a dastardly mega-slump. Time to change? Question mark.

Anybody got any great ideas for what I should do? Y'know, places to look for apartments and/or roommates..? I'm mostly listening, and half reciting Ghostbusters II scene for scene in my head.

-Sean Dwyer
linkpost comment

Vain? What? [Mar. 10th, 2007|01:24 am]
Sean Dwyer

Crush this person!
Get your own ThisCrush.com CrushTag!
link2 comments|post comment

When, With Elation [Dec. 9th, 2006|09:45 pm]
Sean Dwyer
[mood |groggygroggy]
[music |"Time Bomb," by The Format]

So, I was thinking about what it'd be like -- say, if I were just sitting here at work in my partial-cubical -- like I am -- and, I would be approached by myself from the future. Like, not from far in the future, say. More like, y'know, maybe a month in the future, so that I'd still look like me, the way I do now. Sure, I've seen myself on video, or in pictures... But, I've just been very interested to see what it'd be like to encounter myself in an everyday situation, like other people take for granted. I've just always been very curious as to how other people perceive me in real-life -- and, in the same vein, extremely self-conscious due to it. In my own head, I always end up picturing myself tons differently than how I'm actually coming off. It creates problems. I've been told by some people that I have a distorted body-image problem, which, y'know, may be true. Not that I'm exactly a good source to prove that either false or factual, being that I'm the one with the distorted body-image apparently, and whatever I'm seeing is somewhat skewed in one way or another. It's a problem without an easy answer, I suppose. I mean, I guess, I could just rely on other people to tell my truthfully how exactly I'm looking at that exact moment, but, people hardly ever tell the truth when it comes to those kind of things. Further, this creates the problem of people thinking that I'm overly vein, due to me constantly checking in with them concerning how I look twelve times over the course of an evening, and treating them like my own personal mirror. I figure that's the reason I'm drawn so much mirrors and other equally shiny things; though, since I can't trust my own eyes in feeding back to me correct information, I suppose it's all in jest. So, yeah: a problem without a discernable answer. Perhaps, I just need to seek friends out who I trust more to hit me hard with the truth, while at the same time don't reach to be too real, for the sake of not hurting my feelings. There's really not so much a safe middle ground on the matter, I feel.

Well, classes are ending for this semester, and I'm about ready for them to. I need a break. School's no fun. I mean -- sure, it can be, y'know, depending on the classes you choose, and whatnot. But, this particular semester I went ahead and paid the hefty price for enrolling rather last minute. The price: 8am classes. Wow. They're bad. Real bad. Like, in a real bad way. Put on top of that the whole having-a-teacher-that's-not-at-all-fit-to-teach-a-class-ever, makes for plenty of ammunition when debating to stay in bed instead. Which, I've done. Probably too much. But, I mean, it's not like I've been missing much at all. Trust me, I know for a fact that I haven't been missing much at all. Get this, right? This teacher-lady's only assigned TWO assignments for the entire semester. Unheard of, right? Well, yeah, I know. But, keep in mind that this lady sucks at what she does. In a major sucking way. Next semester I plan on being a wiser version of myself, and not waiting until the last available minute to sign-up for classes. Sean Dwyer is a man who learns from his mistakes, and who also enjoys sleeping in when he's able.

But, wow. Heroes. Great show. If you're not already watching it, I'm pretty sure that you should start, like, right away. Coincidentally, NBC.com is currently offering full-episodes right on their website so that Johnny-come-latleys can go ahead and sweep themselves up in the magic of everyday people developing superpowers in a modernday fictional world. Trust me, you'll thank me. Hopefully, with money. And, pancakes, since I'm starving. And, I want pancakes. So, get on that. Thanks!

-Sean Dwyer
link1 comment|post comment

What I think about most of you. [Dec. 7th, 2006|01:44 am]
Sean Dwyer
Click here.
Take the quiz.
Post your results.
See goodlookinguy's results.Collapse )
link10 comments|post comment

And, There's No Need For Me [Dec. 7th, 2006|12:01 am]
Sean Dwyer
[Current Location |Amherst, NY]
[mood |anxiousanxious]
[music |"Rootless Tree," by Damien Rice]

Yipes, I've neglected this thing for awhile, haven't I, Sean? Well, wow, I mean, I don't even know where to start since last I left off -- so, instead of backtracking like other people would, and try to catch you guys up with what I've been doing, I'm, um, just not going to do anything, and save everyone the trouble -- mostly me.

With the whole "yikes, it's been a long time" speel out of the way, let me get down to business. While, it's pretty much apparent that I don't so much have "business" to get down to - I suppose I might try getting down to something else. Like what? Um, well, hmmm . . . Wow, I'm rusty. I recall the days when I'd get onto Live journal and I'd have a plan of action; I'd have pages of notes outlining entries and how I'd like to format them. I'd have a dream, and I'd dare to write it down. That was me of old. Now -- Now, Sean's just old. 23 years to be exact. I think -- and, don't dare correct me if I'm wrong -- 23's just about as old as a person can be and still be called a person by name. Seriously, I've got facts. But, I mean, at very least, nowadays I can breathe a little easier, no being a tad happier with the direction I'm moving in. Granted, in terms of being happier in my present direction, it might be something like a 2% change, right? But, I mean, who's keeping track of that stuff anyway, y'know. Well, I guess, besides me, since, apparently I do. And, I race tigers on my lunch break. True story. I've got facts to back it up: lion-clawed facts.

Presently, I'm starting at a new job that allots me Internet access -- which, in turn, actually provides me crazy time to update my journal again. Will I take advantage of this time, or will I waste it brooding over how I just completed the worst Fantasy Football season on record? Can't I do both? Well, no. Brooding's hard word. Although, my actual "job" is, um, not. Pretty much -- more or less, this job's an Air Force free version of the job I used to do back a few years back. It's better by three-fold. Like, one: we get to wear whatever we feel like. And, I mean, that sure beats, um, not wearing whatever we feel like, dig? Secondly, the job's way easier, and a lot more laid back -- which also covers fold number three. So, I mean, sure, I've only been here a grand total of two weeks, but, so far it doesn't seem entirely awful, y'know? Oh, and it's close to home. And, anyone who knows me knows that I hate driving lots, and this job works towards not enraging that trend.

Only problems that I seem to be coming across in the early parts of this job are, y'know, small stupid stuff: not remembering pretty much anyone's name. Within the entire staff that works here, I'd maybe say that I maybe know a total of five people's names. It's terrible, trust me, I know. It's just hard for me. Not to mention embarrassing. When it comes to time where I have to approach people with questions, instead of just simply approaching them, like a normal person, and going something like, "Hey, Judy, did you happen to get the memo about this bathroom strangler, no?" Instead, I have to do my best awkward-guy impression, awkwardly side-saddling unsuspecting people with rude-sounding "Hey, you," or some awkward variation of the same. Yep. I mean, obviously, I don't mean to be rude or brash. Well, okay, I do mean to be brash, since, being called brash sounds pretty awesome -- but, I'd rather people like me. I just hate that my whole forgetting-everyone-I-meets-name-thing gets in the way, as per always. See, there was one advantage to being in the military: everyone's name was written on their chest in the work environment -- which further proves that my whole "everyone should wear name-tags everywhere policy" is one heck of a policy. With balls.

I mean, sure, I have other stuff going on in my life that I may not have touched on -- but, I mean, you're not missing out on much, trust me. Life, for me, as a whole, is pretty much lame; all shades of lame. I swear that at one point in my life, I swear, I used to have lots of friends. But, I guess that's what happens when you're not all into making the investment of making new friends. It's like having a hockey franchise, right? Sure, you got your starting line of friends and some solid back-ups at first. But, if you continue to have crappy rookie drafts, or tend not to have a good minor league team system in place, eventually your starters will retire, or move on in free-agency. Suddenly, all your star players are gone, and the back-ups that you used to rely on for pure back-up purposes only now are the guys that you're depending on to win you games. That's my current experience with my friends, worded perfectly in hockey metaphor, for everyone to understand. You're welcome.

Well, I got nothin'. I guess there's a reason why I haven't updated in forever -- I really have nothing neat that I'd like to document for any type of viewing public to see -- even if that viewing public just consists of me. I mean, who likes to be reminded in clear print that their life isn't at all interesting? Eh, not me.

Lastly -- George, you damn well better get the wheels rolling on a Festivus for the rest of us. Seriously, man, I'm burnt out on Christmas and Hallmark cards, y'know? But, I mean, who isn't these days, am I right? Wouldn't it be nice to have a non-evasive winter celebration that doesn't feed the machine; a holiday that we can all share? Dammit, George, get the ball rolling: it's time you do what you're here to do, and spread Festivus . . . For the rest of us.

Sean Dwyer,
Sean Dwyer
link1 comment|post comment

navigation
[ viewing | 10 entries back ]
[ go | earlier/later ]