(no subject)
Damn this week blew so damn hard. It really was one non-stop kick to the ballzack from start to finish. Starting with taking (and subsequently failing) a Spanish test on my birthday... and I studied my ASS off for that test, but the teacher decided that we were so damn smart that we didn’t need the whole class period to finish it, so she shaved off the last twenty or so minutes of it. Good lord, just when I have things figured out. What kills me is the stuff I managed to finish I did RIGHT.
But I didn’t expect anything good to happen on my birthday (I’m not being a pessimist, I mean that I didn’t try to plan anything special on a MONDAY) but I reassured myself that this weekend will be okay... WRONG. So wrong. So very very wrong.
I spent half the week dreading to check my e-mail for reasons I will not mention.
But this weekend should be okay, right? RIGHT? Hell no.
Why do I even bother planning anything? Actually, why do I bother doing anything at all? Everything I’ve done (school related and socially) has crashed and burned on the runway. I’ve tried giving myself my own rhetoric about seeing these difficult times through, but for crying out loud! How much more crap do I have to take?! What’s the point of living something close to a virtuous life if you get pissed on all the time?
I have only one person I can talk to honestly and frankly. Which would normally be a good thing, but unfortunately for me, I found that out only after I completely flipped out today. I couldn’t help it. I just snapped. I just wanted to go to sleep after this week, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to because my head’s too busy so I took a generous dose of Ny-Quil (which I kinda needed anyway because I’ve been coughing quite a lot) but through some mystery of nature I am still wide awake. All it managed to do is make me an ornery bastard (cough’s gone though).
Next thing I know, my fingers and hand had blood all over them and I managed to piss my roommate off. I walked it off (“it” being the cough syrup apparently). After I got back I found out that my roommate was a lot more understanding that I thought and as much as I hate doing it, I unloaded all of this stupid shit baggage that I’ve been carrying around. Do I feel better because of it? Slightly. The only thing I feel better about is the fact that it wasn’t getting worse, but that’s not saying much.
I had to make a lot of phone calls today and I had to do what I HATE DOING more than anything else in the entire world, and that is leave messages. I hate hate HATE leaving fucking messages because I know... I KNOW that those messages have about an 80% chance of being completely ignored; which, you know, makes me feel REALLY good about myself. If you think I’m kidding, go ahead and not return a damn phone call of mine. I will hate you until the day you die. I don’t care who you are, if you don’t have the decency to return my calls then you are no friend of mine.
I still don't remember how I got blood all over my hand. I know it's mine, but damn... you think you'd remember something like that.
But I didn’t expect anything good to happen on my birthday (I’m not being a pessimist, I mean that I didn’t try to plan anything special on a MONDAY) but I reassured myself that this weekend will be okay... WRONG. So wrong. So very very wrong.
I spent half the week dreading to check my e-mail for reasons I will not mention.
But this weekend should be okay, right? RIGHT? Hell no.
Why do I even bother planning anything? Actually, why do I bother doing anything at all? Everything I’ve done (school related and socially) has crashed and burned on the runway. I’ve tried giving myself my own rhetoric about seeing these difficult times through, but for crying out loud! How much more crap do I have to take?! What’s the point of living something close to a virtuous life if you get pissed on all the time?
I have only one person I can talk to honestly and frankly. Which would normally be a good thing, but unfortunately for me, I found that out only after I completely flipped out today. I couldn’t help it. I just snapped. I just wanted to go to sleep after this week, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to because my head’s too busy so I took a generous dose of Ny-Quil (which I kinda needed anyway because I’ve been coughing quite a lot) but through some mystery of nature I am still wide awake. All it managed to do is make me an ornery bastard (cough’s gone though).
Next thing I know, my fingers and hand had blood all over them and I managed to piss my roommate off. I walked it off (“it” being the cough syrup apparently). After I got back I found out that my roommate was a lot more understanding that I thought and as much as I hate doing it, I unloaded all of this stupid shit baggage that I’ve been carrying around. Do I feel better because of it? Slightly. The only thing I feel better about is the fact that it wasn’t getting worse, but that’s not saying much.
I had to make a lot of phone calls today and I had to do what I HATE DOING more than anything else in the entire world, and that is leave messages. I hate hate HATE leaving fucking messages because I know... I KNOW that those messages have about an 80% chance of being completely ignored; which, you know, makes me feel REALLY good about myself. If you think I’m kidding, go ahead and not return a damn phone call of mine. I will hate you until the day you die. I don’t care who you are, if you don’t have the decency to return my calls then you are no friend of mine.
I still don't remember how I got blood all over my hand. I know it's mine, but damn... you think you'd remember something like that.