Always getting broken, but never breaking down
May 05, 2003 @ 9:28 a.m.
Well.
My mother went to Omaha for just a day on Saturday, and took my car. The other night I asked when she�d be gone, for how long. Then I offered to get an oil change before she goes, because my car is due for one in about 600 miles. She said, in that voice of hers, the voice that gets me so angry because it�s the one she used to address me as a child, �Fine, Kelly. I�ll just take my car then. The check-engine light keeps coming on, but don�t you worry. It�ll be fine.�
Fucking guilt trip.
So I yelled. It was just a little thing. But I yelled anyway. I had already gotten into a tiff with Jessica the day before � why not my mother? Why not everyone?
I�m not the only one who acts like a child. I am not the only one who stomps my feet and pouts. So why am I the only one that is overreacting? Why am I the only one who�s not acting their age?
I�ve been acting like an adult since before I started middle school. How dare you take away the little moments that I have to escape that adulthood? I should be allowed to stomp my feet every now and again, if only to relieve the churning in my stomach and my mind.
After seething through quick amounts of homework, I went to bed, and ground my teeth until sleep came.
The days after that, including today, have not been better.
And with these boys sitting across from me, admiring the thin girls that walked away, I am beginning to remember why I thought it was all worthless in the first place. Sure, my jeans fit a little better. What does 2 pounds matter when you�re 90 pounds overweight? What does lifting cans of fruit substituting for weights matter, when all those boys out there are just bigger versions of their teenage horny selves? When all they want consists of not me?
I am tired. Six days straight at work is sure to make my head spin. Dealing with my boss not giving a fucking inch. Dealing with the end of school, and the beginning of finals. Dealing with crunches and cardio and fat burning when it�s my personality that�s the real problem. Dealing with being the cynic, because that�s what they know me as (but don�t know that I become so weary playing the part). Dealing with finding a day job that I actually enjoy, because my night job is making me want to off the entire administration in a sick but worthwhile massacre.
I am tired. Beautiful people are making me sick. Ugly people aren�t a comforting blanket anymore. (I see myself with acne and missing teeth and whitetrash giggles, now.) Thin and fat people blur together but they�re all different from what I am.
I know. What makes me special? I am just another pixel on the screen. But it seems even in angst, it is my own private angst, one that I refuse to share with you or anyone else. It is finally something that is mine and mine alone.
I don�t know. I haven�t made sense in a while.
Been having thoughts that aren�t coherent: I�ll start a rhyming song, something about how �blue� rhymes with �do� and form a nonsense sing-song I forget two minutes later, while stuck on thoughts of farming or the future. Stupid. And I�ll stare at a sunset or a corny commercial and my eyes will water uncontrollably.
Lots of stress, I guess. Nothing I want to talk about. I�m very tired of complaining and it�s very hard to look at the positive side of things.
All these preppy boys�I swear, if I see one more boy wearing khakis and loafers, with diamond earrings in both ears and their hair drowning in hair spray and gel, things will get messy. Where are all the scruffy, dirty, rolled-out-of-bed boys? Where are the ones with in-the-eyes hair, wearing black and rubbing at their soul patch?
Not that it�d matter, romantically speaking. Boys make me nervous. But it�d be a nice change of scenery.
Can you tell yet that I�m wasting time until I get to go to pointless class, and then pointless home to eat a pointless lunch, and then pointless work where I earn some pointless money to put towards my pointless car, or perhaps my pointless credit card purchases?
That�s another thing that my mother lectured to me about. �You should always be able to pay off your credit cards with money that you have now.�
Apparently I have too much debt already to function in this world. It started because I asked her to loan me $100 for my dorm down payment. It escalated from there, mostly because we had already been fighting about my car. So no, I don�t have lots of money. And yes, I overspend my budget. But apparently since I have school loans, I can�t partake in it like the rest of America does.
Sure, I make on-the-spot purchases of things I don�t need. I buy a CD a week, for Chrissakes. But I�m trying to pay that off, so I can fix my car�s brakes, so I don�t run into a fucking pole and she has to go through the grief of organizing a funeral around Sean�s graduation bacchanal.
Jesus, I�m self-deprecating today.
Remember those days I talked about, where I thought I wanted to go bury my head between my sheets and not face the world that day? Well, today, I want to bang my head against something extremely solid until one of them gives.
To think. In a week or two, I won�t have to deal with this place again. To think that brings absolutely no comfort. What will I do with my days? My schedule at the library are five-to-nines excepting weekends. I have banished my credit card. There is no cabin I can frequent. There are no friends that can visit that live far enough away. Road trips by yourself can only be fun for so long. Especially when your car is always getting broken (but never breaking down).
Sounds familiar to my situation.
<< | >>
- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006