Chapter 77
Forecast for Today: Sunny with a Slight Chance of a Tornado
Sometimes I feel like if you look up the word “annoying” in the dictionary then you will find my roommate’s name as the definition. She’s a nice enough girl, and she hasn’t really done anything to me, I guess our personalities just don’t mesh. The really irritating part is that guys always want to hang out with her. All she does is talk, last I checked heterosexual, manly men did not like to hang out with a girl who just talks (mostly about herself and her drama filled life). So I’m a bit confused when I come home and there is some new guy here sitting in the kitchen or the living room with her listening to her stories about all the drama in her life. I could understand if she was some bleach blonde that has a hot body and all the guys want to get with her, but they don’t. They don’t ask her out, they just come to listen to her. Personally, I’m grateful, because if she is talking to them then she’s not talking to me. I find myself closing my door when I realize she is home, and sometimes even locking it, I turn down my music and hunch down as though I am trying to convince her that I am not home, even though my car is in the drive. Because I’m tired of hearing the same stuff over and over again, especially since most of it is drama that is at least five years old. Maybe she would have new stories if she stopped telling the olds ones every time she had contact with people.
I guess it doesn’t help that I don’t feel sorry for people, although, I am beginning to think that maybe I feel sorry for people that I care about. Baby Face worked tonight and he seemed a little down and it actually bothered me! But it got me thinking, what if this was someone else? Would I be worried? Would I feel sorry for them and want to do anything to help? And I realized that I would; there were several people, most family members, and most of my friends. It’s probably because my friends don’t pity themselves to death, if they did, I probably wouldn’t be friends with them, and they would be dead. Autopsy says, died of an overdose of self pity.
I’ve also realized that I embellish things. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, I think it makes life more interesting. I exaggerate when I get hurt, such as, I got cut the other day at work and when I tell the story I say that I got stabbed by the cart and it hit an artery and crimson blood came squirting out all over the place and it was all I could do to keep from bleeding to death. I exaggerate when I like a guy, I act stalkerish when talking to friends or I talk about how we are going to get married, but I don’t stalk them and I certainly don’t think we will ever get married. And to be honest, I lay it on thick when talking bad about people. Of course, the facts are still there, but I make it seem like it means more to me then it does. I don’t sit here and lose sleep over my roommate, or over a boy, I just embellish and make it seem like I do. Understand? So, I say that my roommate really bugs me, but to be honest, I barely have interactions with her and I would just like to keep it that way, and maybe at the moment that I say something or decide to write something is just one small moment where she is penetrating through the walls that I have put up and so I feel I must write my grievances down somewhere. Tonight I got off of work early and went to my parent’s house to hang out with my sister who is in town. We were talking and she asked me what my roommates do. I sat there for a moment trying to remember if I even knew to begin with. I told her she should come over sometime, I meant to check out my room but she says, “I don’t want to hang out with your roommates.” I laughed and told her that I don’t even hang out with my roommates so why would I expect her to?
Forecast for Today: Sunny with a Slight Chance of a Tornado
Sometimes I feel like if you look up the word “annoying” in the dictionary then you will find my roommate’s name as the definition. She’s a nice enough girl, and she hasn’t really done anything to me, I guess our personalities just don’t mesh. The really irritating part is that guys always want to hang out with her. All she does is talk, last I checked heterosexual, manly men did not like to hang out with a girl who just talks (mostly about herself and her drama filled life). So I’m a bit confused when I come home and there is some new guy here sitting in the kitchen or the living room with her listening to her stories about all the drama in her life. I could understand if she was some bleach blonde that has a hot body and all the guys want to get with her, but they don’t. They don’t ask her out, they just come to listen to her. Personally, I’m grateful, because if she is talking to them then she’s not talking to me. I find myself closing my door when I realize she is home, and sometimes even locking it, I turn down my music and hunch down as though I am trying to convince her that I am not home, even though my car is in the drive. Because I’m tired of hearing the same stuff over and over again, especially since most of it is drama that is at least five years old. Maybe she would have new stories if she stopped telling the olds ones every time she had contact with people.
I guess it doesn’t help that I don’t feel sorry for people, although, I am beginning to think that maybe I feel sorry for people that I care about. Baby Face worked tonight and he seemed a little down and it actually bothered me! But it got me thinking, what if this was someone else? Would I be worried? Would I feel sorry for them and want to do anything to help? And I realized that I would; there were several people, most family members, and most of my friends. It’s probably because my friends don’t pity themselves to death, if they did, I probably wouldn’t be friends with them, and they would be dead. Autopsy says, died of an overdose of self pity.
I’ve also realized that I embellish things. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, I think it makes life more interesting. I exaggerate when I get hurt, such as, I got cut the other day at work and when I tell the story I say that I got stabbed by the cart and it hit an artery and crimson blood came squirting out all over the place and it was all I could do to keep from bleeding to death. I exaggerate when I like a guy, I act stalkerish when talking to friends or I talk about how we are going to get married, but I don’t stalk them and I certainly don’t think we will ever get married. And to be honest, I lay it on thick when talking bad about people. Of course, the facts are still there, but I make it seem like it means more to me then it does. I don’t sit here and lose sleep over my roommate, or over a boy, I just embellish and make it seem like I do. Understand? So, I say that my roommate really bugs me, but to be honest, I barely have interactions with her and I would just like to keep it that way, and maybe at the moment that I say something or decide to write something is just one small moment where she is penetrating through the walls that I have put up and so I feel I must write my grievances down somewhere. Tonight I got off of work early and went to my parent’s house to hang out with my sister who is in town. We were talking and she asked me what my roommates do. I sat there for a moment trying to remember if I even knew to begin with. I told her she should come over sometime, I meant to check out my room but she says, “I don’t want to hang out with your roommates.” I laughed and told her that I don’t even hang out with my roommates so why would I expect her to?
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