(no subject)
I… I don’t even know anymore.
Like, oaky. I’m a human being and I cry. I cry a lot more than I like to let on actually. I cry over the stupidest stuff, when I’m really mad or frustrated or embarrassed. But I never cry in front of other people or tell other people why I’m crying because I hate when people I know and care about worry about me. Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it. I’ll hide the tears and make up an excuse or I’ll just walk out without saying a word and disappear for a few hours.
Today’s been a pretty good day, mostly. The Rangers really needed to prepare for our Yulecon halftime performance, so a most of us spent the night before at Jennifer’s house. No biggie there; we prank called some people and bitched about Michelle and Ellen as per usual, got a majority of our costumes finished and giggled about random shit simply because it was three in the morning and none of us wanted to sleep. Today we practiced really hard and as such, I managed to gain a migraine. After we recorded and such, I went home. My migraine wasn’t bad; it was just an annoying throbbing in the back of my head. But when I got home, I figured I’d work on my NaNoWriMo before I went and picked up my friend from work.
I don’t know if everyone does this, or if it’s normal or what. I don’t really care. But at that point, I’d written, oh, 13k words on thirteen pages. Yes, I was behind, I knew; I wanted to try and catch up, thus why I was working on it. And I don’t know if anyone else knows this, but trying to keep up with stuff that’s happened over thirteen pages of self-typed work (especially if it’s my work) shit gets really confusing, really fast. So I figured I’d take the last three pages and leave at a solid ten pages and start a new document with what I’d cut from the first document. Easy procedure, right? Highlight, cut, copy paste into new document, right? Wrong. Apparently I am so… skilled that I can fuck even that up, and now I’m missing the last three pages of my WriMo and am set back another 3k words. That may be nothing to you, but it’s a big deal for me. A huge deal; an enormous deal. I can spend ages working on three pages, and I had. I’d wasted hours of my days neglecting everything else just so I could write those words.
And I know it’s a WriMo; “Just write it again,” you probably want to say. But… I can’t. I can’t physically or mentally make myself do it. I went back to try and figure out what I’d deleted only to start crying hysterically. That is how important everything I write is to me. And it’s not like this hasn’t happened before; it’s happened precisely four times before. The first and second time because of a system wipes my parents got without telling me, the third because of a crash, and the fourth because of my own stupidity. Actually, the fourth time, I got so angry that I bashed holes in my walls, and my parents weren’t too happy about that. And every single time, I bawled my eyes out.
When I started writing this, I needed to vent without having to go out and by plaster out of my own pocket again. My head was throbbing and I couldn’t see clearly ‘cause I was crying so hard. Right now, my head is still throbbing, and even though I’m not crying anymore, my eyes are still burning. I’m going to have to get up in a minute and get some tissue to clean my keyboard and my face. I’m not going to finish it. I just won’t be into it and I refuse to force it. Maybe it’ll get done some other time. But now, it’s not going to happen.
Right. I’m off to pick up Taylor from work.