I stayed home from work today.
When I think back to the moments before dialing that dreaded number, neck and face burning from anticipation of hearing that slow, low, consistently-disappointed voice, I realize that I’m not even sure why I did it. The voice drones:
“Annoyed manager speaking, how can I assist you?”
This is how he always does it. Spot on, every time. My voice quivers:
“Hey, Annoyed manager, I have a terrible migraine and a fever, so I’d really appreciate it if I didn’t have to come into work today.” Silence.
“Yep, that’d be just fine.” I knew he was lying. “Have a nice day, now.”
Immediately, guilt pangs my stomach as I end the conversation. I’m not really sick. There’s no migraine, I just haven’t slept during the night in about three days and my inability to handle my life in a responsible manner has finally kicked down the door, legitimizing my not going to work today. But then I think, I’ve never called in for an opening shift before, nor have I skipped a weekend of work, weekends being the most busy, so I feel that I’m at least a little in the clear.
Trying to evacuate the anxious thoughts from my mind, I feel my body sliding back into a state of tiring depression. Eyes closing, my body can finally rest now that I’ve admitted my mediocre sense of morals, not only to myself but also to my manager. It’s a good day to be a slacker, I think. Not really, but I’ll try anything to rationalize being a lazy fuck.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything on here, which is a both good and bad thing.
Within the past few months, I’ve gone home, realized that I needed to go back to school, witnessed what a complete and utter mess my father’s past marriage has been and how it dissolved with nothing more than a few vague email’s and one three-sentence letter.
Yeah, it’s been weird.
To top it all off, my mother’s been gone since about Monday; she’s been staying at some hotel, since the women’s shelter won’t take her. In essence, she and her husband have always had a miserable marriage to the point where I can’t even fathom them ever having a happy day together.
With all of these issues concerning relationships, I’m really beginning to doubt whether or not I ever want to be committed to someone. Alongside a pile of psychological issues and insecurities about myself, seeing all of these people go through so much pain just to be together just doesn’t make sense. I’m much happier in my little shell, wherein only a few people (and I even regret some of them) have been able to see past.
I haven’t told any of this to my analyst, because I like to waste time and talk about the lack of a future I have and how people leave me when they realize the level of pathetic that I am.
This boy added me back on facebook after not talking to me for a few months because I wouldn’t date him. He said a large reason as to why he did it was to show me a fucking link from Reddit…
He openly posted that. On facebook. I hate myself.
Realization 2
There’s this guy who I’ve never talked to, but I’ve seen him in two shows. He’s gorgeous and I’d never have a chance with him, which is precisely why he is the perfect person for me to obsess over. See, there are a few things I’ve learned from my past experiences with chasing guys. 1.) If you go after them, nothing will ever happen 2.) If on the off chance they return the attention, you lose interest after a while 3.) Having improbable fantasies about them will always be better than if you were to actually meet them/be with them. It is for those reasons that I give up having feelings for guys that I know. All that does is complicate things, when in reality, all I’m actually looking for is something that is nearly impossible to have. The let down that is reality bores me, and I’d much rather have the improbable and idealistic circumstances.
After reading that depressingly desperate paragraph, I realize that I am regressing into the mentality of a ten year old.
I’ll be an old spinster for sure, and I’m not as worried about it as I thought I would be. That is so terribly sad.
Realization.
There’s a boy that I hang out with and, as sad and pathetic as it makes me to admit it, the only reason I hang around him is because he’s attractive. Nothing else, just attractive. See, I’ve always had a “thing” for guys with red hair and, as luck would have it, he has red hair, so I tolerate his ramblings on why “pop-punk music is the best genre” and “only fucking hipsters only know about Dali and shit.” He makes these outlandish claims about how he’s trying to revolutionize music, when his music sounds just as shitty as the rest of the genre. Revolutionary is supposed to be different and change the ordinary way, but all I hear is mediocre sound coming from less than talented musicians. I’m sorry, but having little more than a series of “oi’s” and “whoas” is nothing short of boring and stereotypical of the genre. He rips on every other type of music, when he can’t even move his hand up and down the neck of his bass without losing his concentration.
Another thing; I honestly feel that he believes I’m an idiot. Whenever I talk to him, all he does is talk down to me and feels that he has to explain everything he says in as simplified terms as possible. It’s so. fucking, aggravating.
To conclude the story, I’m a terrible person and should never be around the opposite sex.
I might have a new room.
Since I might not have much left to write about, I mean, aside from her probable hate letters and death threats via the Internet, I’m assuming that this blog is just going to turn into a diary entry thing. It should be fun, but I use the term “fun” in the most sarcastic way possible.
just got a roommate for this semester. greattttt. (This is the start of her latest thread. It’s…enlightening.)
person 1: noooooooooooooooooooooooooo. she better be cool. does she have a facebook? i need to facebook creep before i can determine if we can accept her.
roomie: she needs to go.
person 1: i think i’m going to like her
roomie: i had plans for my room tho
roomie: she just better be ready for parties
person 2: This is so much nicer and so much less like you’re going to kill her than the other status you had. Proud of you.
roomie: why thank you.. buttt, if she’s not ready to get crazy, wellll then we may have a problem. a huge problem actually.
person 2: What if she’s crazier than you and she thinks you’re the goodie too shoes? That would be hilarious.
roomie: that wouldn’t happen.
person 2: I hope that’s a joke.
roomie: nopee.
This was on a public thread. One that I could read. I’ve never met her in my life. I think she’s going to kill me before the first week of classes are over. It’s a shame, as I haven’t written a will, because I didn’t expect to need one at the ripe old age of twenty. She sure showed me.
This could be the worst half year of my life.
I just transferred to a new university and, from what I can tell, it’s going to be quite the semester. My classes should be fun and enthralling, but there’s one issue that’s about to arise; my new roommate has already decided, based on a series of complications that I cannot help, that she hates me.
The following was a post I discovered upon friending her on Facebook:
to whoever picked my room for next semester:
FUCK YOU. i didn’t want a roommate since mine is leaving me :(
i hope you’re ready for a huge bitch fest.
(but if you’re cool, i’m sorry)
p.s. just be ready for some craziness… and don’t be a bible thumper or a goody-to-shoes… and don’t have a boyfriend (i don’t want to see your lovey shit)..
love, me :)
For the record, the room assignments were made by the housing department and, contrary to her belief, had nothing to do with me.
As I my body might be found at the bottom of a river within the next month, I figured I’d post this as proof before the Amber Alert goes out.
Sincerely,
Scared College Student
I have another Tumblr, but it’s not important and neither is this one.
In essence, the purpose of this account is to blog about the shit that my new roommate says and does. She as well as myself will remain anonymous, but I feel it won’t dampen the shennanigans.
tumblrbot asked: WHAT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER WHEN YOU ARE IN A BAD MOOD?
Punch dancing and platonic friendship.
