(no subject)
Oh, yes, and work? Well, DONT get me started.
My plans to submit by Christmas? AHAHAHA! What a funny, and oh-so-unrealistic and totally fucking stupid thought. January?? Am I kidding myself?
And I have not even the hint of money left. Today I have started selling my body (various parts of it) into slavery, only if my (their) new owner promises to feed and wash and cloth me (them). I mean, come on, my family thinks I am loser anyway! I thought I could tell them, look at me! I am half PhD! Look at me clever thing!
And when Ia m coming home for Christmas, WHAT I ask you will they see:
A girl of 28 with puffy eyes from not enough sleep/alcohol/cigarettes with no property, no degree, no job and no boyfriend. WELCOME to the home-coming not-quite-fucked-up-yet queen. I cannot wait to arrive in the land of efficiency meeting all my efficient friends with their perfect lives and perfect boyfriends/fiances/husbands and their finished PhDs and jobs and flats.
I can tell, you see, because some of them have started writing to me again. They did not do so before, because they felt inferior (me being at Oxford an all), but now, five years later the novelty has washed off, the reality is shining through in ugly colours and they realise that I am a loser after all. Big time.
In the beginning the nice ones were proud of me and the nasty ones stopped writing to me. NOW, the nasty ones are writing again and the nice ones are too busy being nice to other people. The novelty has worn off. I am not the cool friend who is doing her PhD at Oxford anymore; I have become the hopeless student and spinster who cannot hold a man even if she tried and cannot finish a PhD even if someone would pay her to do so.
I have turned into this bitching and moaning and complaining someone, who, fortunately, I hardly am in real life (well, only 95% of the time), and people have stopped knowing me. They have moved on. They have men, they have women, they have couple friends, they are not hopeless spinsters anymore and NO, trust me, the world is most certainly not like Bridget Jones is telling us, mocking the single girls as stupid, helpless, hopeless people who will, miracleously get the rich lawyer in the end, ANYWAY.
No, I for one am an angry spinster. I am helplessly hitting everything within my reach. I snipe, I sneer, I bitch, I moan, hoping to the gods almighty that someone, maybe someone out there would still be able to find my bruised heart under all this shit I have been piling up around myself.
I hide, I wear black, I have managed to live this lifestyle to perfection - so perfect someone almost sat one me today because he did not see me. At all. I mean, I was the only one sitting at the table. How could he NOT see me?
Anyway, despite all this... I hope that someone finds me, the person in this pile of shite, hiding at home in black clothes, sitting behind locked doors, never going out, talking to anyone, afraid of herself, her brain, her heart, bruised and bleeding from invisible wounds... the plain girl underneath who wants nothing but just being loved.
GODS, I HATE THIS PLACE.
My plans to submit by Christmas? AHAHAHA! What a funny, and oh-so-unrealistic and totally fucking stupid thought. January?? Am I kidding myself?
And I have not even the hint of money left. Today I have started selling my body (various parts of it) into slavery, only if my (their) new owner promises to feed and wash and cloth me (them). I mean, come on, my family thinks I am loser anyway! I thought I could tell them, look at me! I am half PhD! Look at me clever thing!
And when Ia m coming home for Christmas, WHAT I ask you will they see:
A girl of 28 with puffy eyes from not enough sleep/alcohol/cigarettes with no property, no degree, no job and no boyfriend. WELCOME to the home-coming not-quite-fucked-up-yet queen. I cannot wait to arrive in the land of efficiency meeting all my efficient friends with their perfect lives and perfect boyfriends/fiances/husbands and their finished PhDs and jobs and flats.
I can tell, you see, because some of them have started writing to me again. They did not do so before, because they felt inferior (me being at Oxford an all), but now, five years later the novelty has washed off, the reality is shining through in ugly colours and they realise that I am a loser after all. Big time.
In the beginning the nice ones were proud of me and the nasty ones stopped writing to me. NOW, the nasty ones are writing again and the nice ones are too busy being nice to other people. The novelty has worn off. I am not the cool friend who is doing her PhD at Oxford anymore; I have become the hopeless student and spinster who cannot hold a man even if she tried and cannot finish a PhD even if someone would pay her to do so.
I have turned into this bitching and moaning and complaining someone, who, fortunately, I hardly am in real life (well, only 95% of the time), and people have stopped knowing me. They have moved on. They have men, they have women, they have couple friends, they are not hopeless spinsters anymore and NO, trust me, the world is most certainly not like Bridget Jones is telling us, mocking the single girls as stupid, helpless, hopeless people who will, miracleously get the rich lawyer in the end, ANYWAY.
No, I for one am an angry spinster. I am helplessly hitting everything within my reach. I snipe, I sneer, I bitch, I moan, hoping to the gods almighty that someone, maybe someone out there would still be able to find my bruised heart under all this shit I have been piling up around myself.
I hide, I wear black, I have managed to live this lifestyle to perfection - so perfect someone almost sat one me today because he did not see me. At all. I mean, I was the only one sitting at the table. How could he NOT see me?
Anyway, despite all this... I hope that someone finds me, the person in this pile of shite, hiding at home in black clothes, sitting behind locked doors, never going out, talking to anyone, afraid of herself, her brain, her heart, bruised and bleeding from invisible wounds... the plain girl underneath who wants nothing but just being loved.
GODS, I HATE THIS PLACE.