One of those awkward moments

when you realize that you’ve let yourself turn something slightly freeing into something ruled by expectations and all sorts of not-so fun things.

Tumblr was meant, at the start, to be a place where I could just post neat stuff, stuff I liked, found amusing/intruguing, things I was randomly obsessed with. Literally no one knew I had it, I was free to do whatever. Like whatever. Reblog whatever.

It is no longer so.

At least 6 people I go to school with are now following me. Two of them are a lesbian feminist couple. Which means they would take offense to me reblogging all my freak-outs about my new obsession. The others are people that don’t know about my obsession with fanfiction and my interests in bdsm, tattoos and piercings. 

I have almost three thousand likes now, because I’m so iffy about reblogging things. I don’t want to change people’s opinions about me, these are people I’ve known for two years now. People I’ll be spending another two years with. Ugh ugh ugh ugh.

What do.

 

Also; back home now. So far the grades go as so: C, B, C. Waiting on the last one. Should be in today or tomorrow at latest, or so everyone has been saying on FB.

My parents are in Maine having jolly good times I want to hear absolutely nothing about. Also; it’s mothers day today. Shall I call? I haven’t decided.

I have a job babysitting for a relative. I’ll get paid and all. Little nervous, I don’t know how it’s going to go.

I’m turning 21 this year.

I need to clean the house.

I need to unpack and deep clean/throw out all my shit.

I need to start taking my meds again. Today, I think.

 

That’s about it.

Seriously, life?

Today has just been shit. Literal shit. I’m sorry, but it’s fucking rant time.

Last night I was supposed to study for two exams that happened today. One was a Sociology exam.

The teacher didn’t put up the vocab sheets until 5pm. I also had a group study time for my Statisics exam. The Soc exam was this morning, and my first one. The teacher is one of those that chat-lectures, so it’s hard to take notes. Thus, there hasn’t been any real study time.

I opted to write up and study notes for Soc instead of going to the Stats study time. Usually I have a tutor I go to before my exam anyway, as my disability is with math and I get to schedule a time outside of class to take the exam.

So, there I am, writing up notes. Someone calls me. “Can I use your shower?”

Uh. 

Fuck.

My hallmate just spent 3 hours deep cleaning the shit out of the bathroom. “Sure.”

“oh, yeah. I’m gonna be dying my hair too.”

Double fuck. Whatever, I don’t have time for this. I let her in, she did her business. She knocks on my door.

“Hey, I have some wait time. Wanna hang out?” Um. No. She sits on my bed and stares around a bit. Her eyes catch on my Anime Boston confirmation.

“Oh, I have to print my express pass.” Wait. What? Express pass? I ask about it. Apparently everyone in the group but me has been getting the email. Awesome.

I check out the website, scrutinize the confirmation, scour my email. No express pass.

Then I realize. The guy who registered us put in my email wrong. I haven’t been getting ANY of the emails everyone else has been getting. Awesome.

I freak out about that. The girl leaves, I freak out some more. I do more FAQ scouring on the AB website. I email their registration. I go see the president of our club and bitch him out. 45$ could have just potentially be wasted and I’m going to want it back. Before they leave.

I go back to my room. There’s a response from AB’s registration center. I’m registered, but I wont be able to get an express pass this late. I’ll have to wait in ass-long lines. Almost thinking it’s not worth it. I think, ‘screw it, go and just demand the 20 extra you paid to get express pass.’ Because, um, I’m not dumb. I know it costs extra for express passes, group discount or not.

I keep studying, I study a tiny bit of Stats. I try to sleep. I can’t.

I pass out around 3:30am.

6:15 I wake up. 7:20 I wake up again. 7:30, I jolt out of bed and get my stuff together, freaking the fuck out about time. I should be, because I’ve prepared. Clothes are laid out, my backpack is packed with notes and Stats stuff for tutoring.

I catch the bus, I drink a soda. I do my Soc exam– it’s long and hard (That’s what she said) but eh. I think it’s okay. Trying not to get too excited because I’ll just jinx myself like last time.

Go to the tutor/basically-the-college-edition-of-sped room. Tutor isn’t there. Hasn’t been here all week. Awesome.

Take my exam anyway. Stare wide eyed and utterly confused. I flip through the exam, find a few things I think I can do, sit around and feel frustrated as I try to remember how to do things.

My 35 year old classmate/study partner/friend finishes his psych exam behind me, and takes a break to switch from psych to stats. He talks about how awesome the studying was last night, and how draining the psych exam was, and how he’s pretty sure he’s gonna do great on his stats exam.

I mutter something about not being prepared at all for this. He smirks and says ‘oh, so you mean maybe I’ll get a better grade than you?’ Fuck off.

Realize, after about ten minutes of his hyperventilating breathing he does when he’s taking exams, that I can’t fucking do this exam. Sit there and try to relax and ignore the panicked breathing he’s doing, but it doesn’t help. It makes me panic a bit as well. I give up and bring the exam to the english tutor who runs the tutoring center with the math tutor.

He says I can come back and finish it next week.

I feel like crying.

I hand it to him and nod and go to get my stuff. He keeps saying something about how it’s okay and sometimes people have to take breaks when doing stuff like this.

I’m shoving things in my backpack and trying not to cry but god damn do I feel like a failure or what? My BC was also messed up and I’m supposed to technically be ‘on the rag’ this week, but I’m not, so my body is freaking out. Cramping, fucking me over emotionally, I’m exhausted and I feel like I’ve failed at life.

I get to lunch and the other half of my study group is being a bitch about me not being there. Lunch takes forever to get because they’re making handmade sandwhiches and the staff here is slower than snails. They put one piece of cheese and barely anthing else. The lady also forgot my lettus. I say fuck it and go sit down.

My other friend is grumpy because he’s usually grumpy. The girl is still bitching. The other boy looks tired but pleased because he’s handed in a paper 3 weeks late but he’s still proud he handed it in. Fuck you, what?

I try to explain what’s been going on, but none of them really give a shit, so I close my mouth and listen to them instead.

It’s probably the worst part of my day. I listen to them talk about procrastinating on papers, exams, homework- and still expecting to do well, actually doing well, or failing and wondering how it’s possible. I listen to them talk about their love lives and their friendships and all the drama that comes with that. I listen to their issues with their families, the school staff, money, and graduation. I listen to them bitch about each other, and creating drama. I listen to every single fucking word that comes out of their mouths, and I not even once do I let myself look bored. Not even once do I let my face show how much I don’t care, don’t want to hear about it, or don’t want to be there.

But them? Oh, no, not them. They roll their eyes, look away, inturrupt, and change the subject. Every time I open my mouth. Okay, I get it. I’ll shut up, I’ll stop talking to you, but don’t fucking blame me when suddenly I explode and you wonder why. 

I just wish I had people that listened. Instead I have a blog that no one listens to and that I rant in aimlessly. I can’t even talk to my parents. My dad will give me a stupid, violent reaction to do. My cousin will say something dumb, and my mom will try to help me come up with ways to fix it. Well, no thank you. It’s called ranting for a reason. You’re supposed to sit there and listen and say meaninglessly that it’ll be okay.

 

Fuck.

I’m going to sleep.

Till math class, that is. 5:30. Wooo.

 

also; fuck spelling. I know I made a few mistakes but I’m too tired and worked up to give a shit so I’m leaving it as is. Suck it.

Confession Time.

I’m still in love with you. Oops?

This song is super interesting this week, and I don’t know why.

I miss candle light.

I really want to go swinging on the swings in a park.

I also really wanna go cloud-gazing.

I need new earphones. I’ve almost chewed through this pair. D:

I’ve started posting on Tumblr again. D:

 

AB ’12

Oh man. Ohhh man.

Guess what?

This weekend is Easter. Which means….

and

and

ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG

Purty excited. Boston, here I come, bringin’ all my chilly Vermont weather with me.

Wooooo~

Wondering.

For some reason, yesterday the memory of my mom telling me about a beautiful, rugged, back-woods blue eyed beast of a man asking after me popped into my head.

I looked everywhere for him. Facebook, google– and well…that’s about as far as I got. I know his sister and I know his name, and I know that his mom died last year unexpectedly.

I know he works as a groundskeeper/guard. I know that he has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and more sarcastic intelligence in his pinky finger than anyone I know.

For some reason, I missed him. I remembered the feel of his lanky torso pressed against my shoulder, and his sweaty after-school-been-on-a-hot-bus-for-an-hour-but-still-smell-like-cute-boy scent, and the dark humor in his eyes as he pulled a roll of bright red duct tape from out of nowhere and taped a line across the roof of the bus. 

I remembered the feel of his long, boney fingers threading through the ends of my ponytail when everyone else was asleep or listening to music and half-passed out.

I remembered the way he walked up the road to his house backwards, staring at the end of the bus with a smirk on his face, as if sharing a joke with his friends when really, he was locked in brown-to-blue gazes with me.

I miss that boy, and that odd connection we started to form. That odd connection I never really noticed until the day my mom came home and asked me if I knew a beautiful man with bluer than blue eyes.

I don’t know why this is popping up again, but I don’t really mind it. I like remembering that people still think of me, even if it’s been 5 years since I last saw them.

yes sir, yes sir.

Things I miss.

That I can’t get quite the same of at school.

 

 

 

 

I miss candles and cats loving on me when I’m busy and real water pressure and our wood stove keeping me warm and the trees around my house and my books, and my bed with a millions pillows and no sour looks at the fact that I don’t use sheets.

Yes.

Polka Dots and Ouchies

If I could just go without a bra for like….a legit month, I would be so over joyed.

Okay, no. That’s a lie. I’m sorry.

I’d be happy, but I’d miss my support and all the pretty colors. 

I wouldn’t, however, miss the pain. I’m a big girl with big breasts. I’m a 40D, and let me tell you, bra’s these days are not meant for 40 inch bands.

I just bought a new bra the other weekend to replace two that had wires pop out after a good year and a half of use. It’s black with white polka dots and I loved it.

Until I put it on.

The cups are weird and made my breasts look squished and uneven, the band cut in hard all the way around. Throughout the day, the right side of the band began to roll up, and by mid-day I was in pain. I had a massive red, angry line from underwire to hook.

Since I haven’t had any money to do laundry, I’ve been wearing the same bra for a few days now, airing it out and the like. The red line has gotten puffy, painful and is about and inch wide. I can’t move my arm up and down much when not wearing the bra because it hurts so bad, and when I am wearing the bra I get sharp spikes of pain where the skin is almost rubbed raw and bloody.

I’m about done with bras.

I’m just gonna go home and never wear one again.

My right side will seriously have scars for the rest of my life; the band always rolls up on that side.

Ok.

I’m gonna go cry myself to sleep now and mourn over the painfulness of my pretty bra.

Tonight was awf…

Tonight was awful! 

Have you ever been the fifth wheel? Not only is one couple making out, swapping gum and making gooey eyes at one another, but the other couple is trying to keep their relationship a secret. They text each other from two feet away, and long awkward silences filled our time.

Even when we were having legit conversations, both couples were so involved with their side conversations and sly looks that I nearly felt like barfing and leaving at that exact second. I didn’t. The secret couple would have been upset. They would have asked questions and then had I given a false reply; angry that I had lied. Even if I had just said I was tired–which I was– they would have been all ‘oh come on, what’s the matter?’ ‘I thought we didn’t make you uncomfortable’ ‘just stay, come on.’ ‘don’t lie’ ‘stop making up excuses’

 

But really. I mean gosh. How much time exactly do you think I can spend in the presence of a couple involving my best guy-friend and my crush of a year and a half? I mean really.

Tonight.

Tonight I was lonely, and I didn’t really know what to do. So I cried. I sniffled. I choked on that nasty lump that forms in your throat, and I hated everything. 

Then I felt bad. I wasn’t sad enough to cry. Tears, a red nose, red eyes, and spiky eyelashes were not worth what I was feeling tonight. So I stopped.

Lonely was worse without the crying, and the pity-party my heart had been preparing. So I left. I brought a book I had borrowed to it’s owner. I listened to music. I read fanfiction. I tried to escape by curling up under my bed with my blanket and a pillow.

It didn’t work.

My heart and arms and skin and eyes and entire body ached, still. I missed people and warm skin and bright eyes and the feeling of holding on to something that is real and solid and there. 

I didn’t know what to do. I was at a loss. I tried to write about it, but I’ve already done so, and the words just repeated over and over in my head like a written tape. I lazed around and attempted to chat. I listened to more music, new music. I looked up interesting things to learn and I tried so very hard to ignore it.

Didn’t work. I still feel it, throbbing in my chest. Deep down low, in a ball of lonely, ‘just hold me’ darkness.

I guess it’s just time to keep going, keep moving. One day, one thought, one moment at a time.

Step one? Falling asleep tonight, and ignoring the lack of a goodnight kiss, a goodbye hug, and an empty bed.

Sweet Baby Jesus.

Is it terrifying or what trying to share your writing. I mean. I sort of gave up on deviantART. No one was even viewing my writing anymore, so I decided to move over here, where at least I feel like it’s more out in the open.

Until today.

When I realized I hadn’t had a few sharing options open. I kinda flipped out mentally. Doesn’t mean anyone’s been looking. I check the stats every few days.

I haven’t had a new viewer in months.

Woo!

But still. Good god. So scary.