What am I doing? Beats me. I decided to sit down one day and start to write what I feel and what my life is like. I don’t pretend that it is interesting, but I’d like to pretend that it was. I don’t know where to begin and I have no clue how this is going to end, but I felt like writing. If this turns out to be of any value it will just be a bonus to alleviating the disappointment in my life.
I’m 23 years old, not old to many people, not even really that old to me when I think that one day I will be 40, 50, 60, probably dead beyond that. I live in an apartment with four other girls and I feel sometimes like they expect someone to be their mother, a role that I have somehow taken on myself. I hate being their ‘mother’ and I hate worse that if I begin to treat them that way they get angry or upset with me but they still won’t grow up and do the damn dishes, or take out the trash. At times I feel like they must think the apartment is magic, and somehow, even though they have dirtied every frying pan in the house and left them for mold, they are cleaned and ready to use again the next day. I feel what it would be like to be a mother, unappreciated, ignored, and abused. I also however think I know what it would be like to have the blood of four girls on my hands, because at times I have felt like I was going to kill them. I only dream of telling off my roommates, being able to leave a sink full of dishes with a dishwasher that is waiting to be filled and seeing if they can do it themselves. I made it 32 hours once, and then broke down and deep cleaned the two front rooms of our apartment; it was dirty again in an hour, and I just can’t figure out why I want to kill them. Hmm. There is one roommate who likes to think that she has done all the cleaning and that a certain amount of respect is owed to her for doing such. In the 14 months that I have lived with her I have seen her take the initiative to clean maybe 6 or 7 times, 4 or 5 of those times was either because it was white glove and we had to do it or because her mother was coming to visit and she would like her mom to think that she wasn’t the slob that she is. I have another roommate who has cleaned once or twice; she’s taken out the garbage, vacuumed the living room, and swept and mopped the kitchen floor. I have never seen her touch the dishes and I wonder if she has a phobia of water. Maybe I should try some unethical scientific experiments on her. Still there is another roommate who is a cook and run kind of girl. She’ll cook meals for her boyfriend and her to eat and enjoy, and then place dishes with food stuck all over them in the sink as though we have a garbage disposal, which to my everlasting disappointment we do not. I’m surprised that their dishes make it to the sink since the pots and pans never do. She cooks a lot with oil which in my maturing years I have grown to disdain. I do not hate my roommates, that is not what I am getting at, I simply hate what they do, or should I say, what they don’t do.
If this weren’t enough I am completely single and the forecast says to expect lonely days for the next couple of years. I don’t fully blame the boys; part has to do with my inability to talk to a boy that I am truly interested in. Oh sure, we have plenty of conversations when he’s not around, but for some reason, he doesn’t know that. I keep telling myself that it’s probably for the best. He would have made a horrible husband, or I didn’t really want to date that guy, or best of all, if he liked me my silence wouldn’t have bothered him.
In addition to this my best friend, a boy probably doesn’t deserve the honor of the title I give him. He is made up of the basic elements disappointment, frustration and confusion. Why do I keep him around? Because he says he loves me and that he misses me when we don’t hang out. I know what you are thinking, it sounds like he wants to be my boyfriend, but he doesn’t, we’ve talked. Thus the element of confusion, I’m apparently exactly what he needs but just not as a girlfriend. I have to admit though it’s nice to be needed sometimes. And when he does come through for me he does make me feel better. However, disappointment plays a large role in our relationship. I am often feeling like we hang out on ‘his time’ like I’m his secret girlfriend and he is going to bring me a sucker and say, “let’s not let anyone know about this, it will be our little secret.” Well, to hell with secrets. I have been stood up by friends before but I must say he does it the most. My good friend says that she’d give me three gold stars for just putting up with him, and I am beginning to think that pretty soon I will need incentive to hang out with him. It probably won’t happen because I’ll admit sometimes I need him too, not that I get to hang out with him when I need him since we are on his time. Another reason that now I am writing this.
To top it all off I think that maybe I have depression, yet another reason for the writing. I think that writing can be therapeutic at times, but when I turn off the computer and walk away from it I enter back into the world of idiotic roommates, pretend boyfriends, and the constant stress and hopelessness of college. Nobody cares for the emotionally imbalanced anymore. I really wish I could listen to Linkin Park right now and scream my guts out, but I am punishing myself for some odd reason and refuse to give in before Sunday to listen to the “secular” music.
For kicks I like to demean the school newspaper and I also enjoy writing about the stereotypical people that I am surrounded by on a daily basis. I want to start a revolution but I don’t know what against. I am how you say, a lost soul, a rebel without a cause, a James Dean minus the testosterone and the motorcycle. I want something more than this life has to offer me. I want more than the middle class security that I have always had and will probably always have. I want to fall off the face of the earth go where I am most afraid to go, and there learn something; find a strength within me that I had no clue was even there. Yet, I lack what is necessary to have the courage to do this. I lack the knowledge of where to even go, what to do. My friends tell me to travel, they are romantics and think with their hearts, I’m a realist and my mind is whirling with the expenses of travel; travel takes money, money that I do not have. They are merely dreamers who have all the best intentions but they turned off their brains when they gave me that advice. I dream, but my brain is never far behind my heart to put it in check. How disappointing.
That should be a brief introduction to me, the writer. I’m not good at writing, so to call myself a writer really threw me just then. But here is my attempt to give you something real, and maybe in the end it won’t turn out feeling that way, but I’m not going to lie, so take it as you like it. And don’t tell me if you don’t like it.