I am a very passionate person. I give off the appearance of apathy sometimes, but it is only a safety mechanism so no one can touch what I strive for and hold most dear.
I hold a certain individual in a very high regard. This individual is promising as a teacher one day and intelligent. He is funny, and noble and---and if I were to list all of his wonderful traits, this paragraph would be an essay dedicated to how wonderful he is. But there is one very striking and unsettling way that he is not so wonderful. He has no drive.
He has no instinctual motive to do and be better or to rise above an opinion to ascertain a new one. He simply exists with no desire to move forward. He's been in the same job for years, hasn't tried to go back to school and he doesn't try to even figure out what he wants. He settles for stagnancy because it is safe and because he feels in this way, he is hurt less than he has ever been.
What strikes me most confused about his character, is that he chooses to stay in one place. I've met people traumatized by their past, inspired by it, or in such decline from that past that they literally believe they cannot do things that "normal" people do. But this is not my friend. He recognizes his position, the worser positions and the better ones that come with work. He vacantly decides not to move. It's not as if he's incapable or blind; he's afraid.
And even as I tried to comfort him and assuage any of his feelings about not being good enough, he turned all of it away. It's as if bullies' opinions amount to more than those who actually care about him.
It is literally the saddest thing I've ever seen in someone with so much potential. No one can fix your problems for you, and no one can wave a magic wand and erase the past. You can only blame people for what they did to you; how you choose to react or move on or not move is entirely up to you. I honestly think that this apathetic attitude towards stagnancy is the reason why capitalism works so well for the 1% and why the college dropout rate is so high.
We had an existentialist discussion in AP Lit a few weeks back, and my class was split into two separate ideas: the one where your choices control your future and the one where fate decides everything for you. Even if you believed in fate, do you really want to be the person who didn't try to change it? Fate is such an abstract concept too; everyone thinks of fate as the endgame, where you end up. They say it's your fate to marry this person or to end up with this job. I don't think it matters. You can't just waste away because everything is predetermined or live in the past because everything already seems like it sucks. Maybe we don't choose where we end up, but we sure do choose how we get there.
When I get to my endgame, I want to say I did all of the things I wanted to do, or that I was, at the very least, happy with what I was doing. I know now I will have tried to be and do better, and when I get to my endgame I know I will have done exactly that.
As much as I love my friend, I can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. But I will never stop trying to convince him or anyone with this mentality that it is worth it to trying to save yourself.
It's your choice and your move. Or lack there of.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Saturday, April 19, 2014
As we all get further and further from being okay and tolerance for pain seeps into decay
Your nerve endings tense up and you close your eyes and you wait for it to hit. All of your muscles are bracing in hopes your skin will feel less of the heat if they do. The fear comes up the abdomen and starts to tickle into the throat. A pair of lips purse because if the scream comes out this whole facade will be ruined.
The whole facade of being okay, of being alright and good enough. How much stress and hurt can a person take in one day? You can take the hours of work, the physical labor and the dealings with strangers. But then what? To come home to a house of such bitterness and anger that maybe isn't towards you, but certainly is being thrown your way. Looking good enough to be a target. A target for their worries and their pain and they expect you to absorb it. Only so much pressure can be contained within a closed space before it explodes.
Your head becomes a hanging pendant, threatening to fall off the neck as you climb up the stairs. The heart and conscience almost become heavier than the head and you open the door to your room and close it, lest someone come visit with a high volume voice and a list of grievances.
When you're not good enough, but you have to deal with everyone's everything--fix their problems, comfort them, and act as a shock absorbent shield for all the pain they outwardly direct physically and verbally--it's not fun. And then getting blamed for everyone's everything, and it being awkwardly rationalized to be all your fault--then running to the mailbox because you forgot about your college tuition deposit and checking your bank account to see if you're any closer to being comfortable paying for a single semester. Asking yourself if the people you love will ever be okay, because if they're not you never will be. Not because you have to deal with their shit; because you love them too much not to.
You look at your father and all his material success, and your mother and all the things that she wanted and got to make her happy. You wonder what exactly must be achieved to be happy, looking at the people who have everything and the picket fence. Their smiles are fake and you need sleep.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
I have failed...
I know, I'm sorry. I just got home from work and that's not an excuse. My brain is half dead, it's 12:02 AM and I am not excusing myself. I should absolutely be punished for not meeting my own deadline for posting.
My hands still smell like Clorox and the TV my mom is still watching is making noises. They hurt my head. I am a terrible friend. I went to work today and ditched plans with a girl I have known for twelve plus years. I'm only seventeen, so twelve years is more than half my life span.
Sometimes, work is a dirty and filthy aspect of your life, literally and figuratively speaking. It can get in the way of relationships, friendships, family--it gets in the way of seeing people you don't work with that are important to you. Holidays, birthdays, parties, dating--they've all become completely and totally moot to me. And I mean schoolwork, please.
But other times, work is awesome. It can be totally fulfilling, or at least that's what I'm telling myself. Last night, my assistant manager told me to write a poem for him about how water while I was sweeping the outside. It was titled "Boiling Bubbles" and was absolutely terrible. But we laughed about it for a good ten minutes and it was nice. Even though the place was dead and the rushes we had were completely spontaneous, fleeting and few, we still had a good time and still worked hard. What is fulfilling, is that there are new relationships and new goals to meet that become prerequisite to accomplish the long term goal. And the new goals make meeting the long term one more fun, but still more exhausting.
I am committed to making up my missed work tomorrow morning--oh wait, it IS tomorrow morning. But in any case, I should be up to date with my schoolwork by the time spring break ends.
What is most worth slaving over than what you decide yourself? What you want and what you need, when they go together? Or is it one or the other? And how do you even decide that without want overwhelming logic of need?
My hands still smell like Clorox and the TV my mom is still watching is making noises. They hurt my head. I am a terrible friend. I went to work today and ditched plans with a girl I have known for twelve plus years. I'm only seventeen, so twelve years is more than half my life span.
Sometimes, work is a dirty and filthy aspect of your life, literally and figuratively speaking. It can get in the way of relationships, friendships, family--it gets in the way of seeing people you don't work with that are important to you. Holidays, birthdays, parties, dating--they've all become completely and totally moot to me. And I mean schoolwork, please.
But other times, work is awesome. It can be totally fulfilling, or at least that's what I'm telling myself. Last night, my assistant manager told me to write a poem for him about how water while I was sweeping the outside. It was titled "Boiling Bubbles" and was absolutely terrible. But we laughed about it for a good ten minutes and it was nice. Even though the place was dead and the rushes we had were completely spontaneous, fleeting and few, we still had a good time and still worked hard. What is fulfilling, is that there are new relationships and new goals to meet that become prerequisite to accomplish the long term goal. And the new goals make meeting the long term one more fun, but still more exhausting.
My two-minute-while-cleaning poem about hot water was, to say the least, a stumble and not funny in the least without context. What was funnier was how my coworkers told me it was deep with the most serious expression on their faces.
I am committed to making up my missed work tomorrow morning--oh wait, it IS tomorrow morning. But in any case, I should be up to date with my schoolwork by the time spring break ends.
What is most worth slaving over than what you decide yourself? What you want and what you need, when they go together? Or is it one or the other? And how do you even decide that without want overwhelming logic of need?
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Adults may be kids who think they know everything but they still know more than me
I received my first legitimate paycheck the other day, and was entirely too confused about all of the government acronyms that were written up for taxes. I could only identify "SS" and "MED" and even with this magical information bounty we call the Internet, I still could not find my answer.
My point is, aside from my horrid Google searches, as citizens, we should probably be informed about this sort of thing. And as people, there are a lot of other things we should know about.
Adults cannot expect children to start working for a living, go to college, and meet people without knowing at the very least the basics of all this. Learning on the way up or from parents or from some role model type figure is wonderful, but not everyone has that option. Most adults don't have the time to teach their own children math and English, and that's why we have schools with teachers who are paid to. So why would they teach us the rest of it?
Information is power, and technology has certainly opened a lot of doors. But it makes the way we learn up for grabs. That means it can be learned and interpreted in a lot of different ways.
But there aren't many different ways to interpret FITW (which is apparently the Federal Income Tax Withholding) or that in sexual intercourse between a male and female bodily fluids are exchanged.
Nobody explained sex to my little brother and he looked it up online. Most of what he stumbled onto was porn. Not trying to bad mouth porn or the Internet, but he was barely out of elementary school and he didn't know how to take the things he was seeing. It's not like he was about to tell Mom "Hey, I found these girls licking whip cream of a guy's pee pee online. What's that about?"
We need classes on basic, adult things. There are so many different uncertainties with dangers that can be measured or just avoided with a little bit more knowledge. I'm about to turn eighteen. If I move out within the year, I'll be responsible for my own health insurance, for doing my own taxes, and I'll be at the age of consent. I know next to nothing about personal finance or what bills I'll being paying. But I still have a job. I know kids that started becoming sexually active and smoking cigarettes in middle school. We start doing adult things but we don't understand the repercussions of unless an adult tells us, or unless we get in trouble for doing them wrong.
Choices should be made knowledgeably and with cause. I'm not downing the concept of spontaneity or risk because I know I certainly overthink and then act on impulse in different moments. But I should know where my money goes when it gets taken off a check, and my brother should know the science of a basic, primal act. We shouldn't get downed with opinions on what to do though, especially if we don't really know what the opinion's about.
My point is, aside from my horrid Google searches, as citizens, we should probably be informed about this sort of thing. And as people, there are a lot of other things we should know about.
Adults cannot expect children to start working for a living, go to college, and meet people without knowing at the very least the basics of all this. Learning on the way up or from parents or from some role model type figure is wonderful, but not everyone has that option. Most adults don't have the time to teach their own children math and English, and that's why we have schools with teachers who are paid to. So why would they teach us the rest of it?
Information is power, and technology has certainly opened a lot of doors. But it makes the way we learn up for grabs. That means it can be learned and interpreted in a lot of different ways.
But there aren't many different ways to interpret FITW (which is apparently the Federal Income Tax Withholding) or that in sexual intercourse between a male and female bodily fluids are exchanged.
Nobody explained sex to my little brother and he looked it up online. Most of what he stumbled onto was porn. Not trying to bad mouth porn or the Internet, but he was barely out of elementary school and he didn't know how to take the things he was seeing. It's not like he was about to tell Mom "Hey, I found these girls licking whip cream of a guy's pee pee online. What's that about?"
We need classes on basic, adult things. There are so many different uncertainties with dangers that can be measured or just avoided with a little bit more knowledge. I'm about to turn eighteen. If I move out within the year, I'll be responsible for my own health insurance, for doing my own taxes, and I'll be at the age of consent. I know next to nothing about personal finance or what bills I'll being paying. But I still have a job. I know kids that started becoming sexually active and smoking cigarettes in middle school. We start doing adult things but we don't understand the repercussions of unless an adult tells us, or unless we get in trouble for doing them wrong.
Choices should be made knowledgeably and with cause. I'm not downing the concept of spontaneity or risk because I know I certainly overthink and then act on impulse in different moments. But I should know where my money goes when it gets taken off a check, and my brother should know the science of a basic, primal act. We shouldn't get downed with opinions on what to do though, especially if we don't really know what the opinion's about.
Right On Time!
Hey hey hey!
I said three days, and here I am. I deserve a prize. I want a cookie. Or ten. Or so.
I know, I'm pathetic. But whatever.
I love this weather. In New York City, it's been around 70 degrees Fahrenheit for a bit. Spring is just starting, warm but with a breeze. I'd love it more if it was 85 degrees, like all the time. Spring is great for creative fashion choices, but summer just feels so native. I believe last time I said this post would be in list form and not a character rap sheet. So here we go:
Post Introductory Script: I think two posts are appropriate today. One fun and sarcastic list (this post) and one more like the other posts. The next one will be going up around 11:30 Eastern time, so I'll start writing right after the Mad Men premiere :D
Top 7 Most Common and Annoying Dialogues for a Busgirl
1. Why can't I order from you? What's busing?
So, just to be clear: A busgirl is not your waitress. She takes your drinks, picks up plates, make sure over the duration of your meal all of your napkin, vinegar, and extra amenity desires are satisfied. In un-special cases, she is allowed to give your food and take your order if the waitress is busy. The busgirl can get in big trouble from her supervisor for taking your order and not directing you to the waitress.
2. *gestures towards empty plate* Can we get all of this to-go?
Yes, you can take all of the heavy glass plates to-go. Please don't make this joke. Don't think you're original. Anyone who has ever worked in the food industry has heard this a bazillion times.
3. Where's my usual waitress? When did all these kids start working here?
Your usual waitress is one of two places: She is doing something else in the restaurant i.e. helping another customer, restocking etcetera or she is unable to work that day. She will more than likely be happy to help you as soon as I take your drink order. All these kids started working here when your oldie but goodie favorite cashiers, cooks, and whatnots retired, moved, or just quit. I don't think it's any of your business where they went if your relationship wasn't personal enough that it did not go outside of the restaurant, and if it did go outside, I assure you, they would tell you. So ease your mind: the other people working here are just as competent or they would not have been hired.
4. Can I get a table for me and you? - or worse - *Gestures toward busgirl* Can I get her to-go?
These place second and third in the worst pick up lines I have ever heard. (First worst pick up line isn't busing related but it is "Do you have the time?" Girl: It's 3:08 "No, do you have the time to go on a date with me?") No girl is interested in a boy who uses cheap one liners in a such a serious manner.
5. How can you tell which one is Diet Coke and which one is regular?
I can tell because I arranged it on the tray I took it to you and I am delivering it you just after getting it from the fountain for you. We can laugh about it, but the fact of the matter is yes, you do need half a brain for this job. And as for whether or not I have that half a brain, you'll find out in a second because weirdly everyone can tell the difference between diet and regular Coke but no one can tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi.
6. Do they feed you here? -or- They let you eat here?
No, they just let me starve because in all the establishments that don't serve food, they don't let you have discounts or benefits for being employed there. If a busgirl ever says she is not fed at the establishment she works at, you need to march up to her employer and yell at him/her and then report them to the federal Department of Labor. I don't know if there's a law against it; all I know is there should be so people can stop asking.
7. *as I try to pick up empty plate* I'm not done with my plate yet.
I have this one customer who literally will not let me touch his plate until he's decided it's done. It can be completely clean of crumbs and he will grab it back from me. I am not allowed to take his plate unless there isn't room for the next round of food or unless he's just left. I understand OCD and that's not it; I have customers that have that neurosis and understand their issues and cater to their needs as best as possible. This guy just doesn't want me to work there and quite literally glares me down until I move on to help someone else. But he always comes on my unchanging shift. I don't understand it.
So those are my gripes about busing. Not the most thought provoking things but please think about them the next time you're in a restaurant and your busgirl looks a little down in the dumps.
I said three days, and here I am. I deserve a prize. I want a cookie. Or ten. Or so.
I know, I'm pathetic. But whatever.
I love this weather. In New York City, it's been around 70 degrees Fahrenheit for a bit. Spring is just starting, warm but with a breeze. I'd love it more if it was 85 degrees, like all the time. Spring is great for creative fashion choices, but summer just feels so native. I believe last time I said this post would be in list form and not a character rap sheet. So here we go:
Post Introductory Script: I think two posts are appropriate today. One fun and sarcastic list (this post) and one more like the other posts. The next one will be going up around 11:30 Eastern time, so I'll start writing right after the Mad Men premiere :D
Top 7 Most Common and Annoying Dialogues for a Busgirl
1. Why can't I order from you? What's busing?
So, just to be clear: A busgirl is not your waitress. She takes your drinks, picks up plates, make sure over the duration of your meal all of your napkin, vinegar, and extra amenity desires are satisfied. In un-special cases, she is allowed to give your food and take your order if the waitress is busy. The busgirl can get in big trouble from her supervisor for taking your order and not directing you to the waitress.
2. *gestures towards empty plate* Can we get all of this to-go?
Yes, you can take all of the heavy glass plates to-go. Please don't make this joke. Don't think you're original. Anyone who has ever worked in the food industry has heard this a bazillion times.
3. Where's my usual waitress? When did all these kids start working here?
Your usual waitress is one of two places: She is doing something else in the restaurant i.e. helping another customer, restocking etcetera or she is unable to work that day. She will more than likely be happy to help you as soon as I take your drink order. All these kids started working here when your oldie but goodie favorite cashiers, cooks, and whatnots retired, moved, or just quit. I don't think it's any of your business where they went if your relationship wasn't personal enough that it did not go outside of the restaurant, and if it did go outside, I assure you, they would tell you. So ease your mind: the other people working here are just as competent or they would not have been hired.
4. Can I get a table for me and you? - or worse - *Gestures toward busgirl* Can I get her to-go?
These place second and third in the worst pick up lines I have ever heard. (First worst pick up line isn't busing related but it is "Do you have the time?" Girl: It's 3:08 "No, do you have the time to go on a date with me?") No girl is interested in a boy who uses cheap one liners in a such a serious manner.
5. How can you tell which one is Diet Coke and which one is regular?
I can tell because I arranged it on the tray I took it to you and I am delivering it you just after getting it from the fountain for you. We can laugh about it, but the fact of the matter is yes, you do need half a brain for this job. And as for whether or not I have that half a brain, you'll find out in a second because weirdly everyone can tell the difference between diet and regular Coke but no one can tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi.
6. Do they feed you here? -or- They let you eat here?
No, they just let me starve because in all the establishments that don't serve food, they don't let you have discounts or benefits for being employed there. If a busgirl ever says she is not fed at the establishment she works at, you need to march up to her employer and yell at him/her and then report them to the federal Department of Labor. I don't know if there's a law against it; all I know is there should be so people can stop asking.
7. *as I try to pick up empty plate* I'm not done with my plate yet.
I have this one customer who literally will not let me touch his plate until he's decided it's done. It can be completely clean of crumbs and he will grab it back from me. I am not allowed to take his plate unless there isn't room for the next round of food or unless he's just left. I understand OCD and that's not it; I have customers that have that neurosis and understand their issues and cater to their needs as best as possible. This guy just doesn't want me to work there and quite literally glares me down until I move on to help someone else. But he always comes on my unchanging shift. I don't understand it.
So those are my gripes about busing. Not the most thought provoking things but please think about them the next time you're in a restaurant and your busgirl looks a little down in the dumps.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
So, in an effort to clean up my act...
...I have made 13 mistakes this week, and the counting of them is probably not healthy. I will be pushing a deadline on myself to blog every 3 days come hell or high water. Whether or not I close at work or get assigned a load of homework, this will happen. I recently checked the dates on all my posts and it's wonky looking; they're mostly Wednesdays or random weekends.
Right, so my thirteen mistakes. In list form, so they're slightly easier to read.
1) I wore a green lace dress and the slip covering my butt kept riding up. Walking home with headphones in my ear, I didn't really realize it was happening and that everyone could see my flesh and panties. At least, not until a weird guy asked me for directions and asked if it was purposely see through, and as I turned the corner and tried to fix my slip he told me it looked good either way. Then I hightailed my hide toward the street where I live and never looked back.
2) Accepted extra responsibility at work without fully understanding the new task. Dressing the bottom bun versus what goes on the top bun, because though I work at a burger joint I don't flip them. I'm not even that dumb working teenager cliche. I'm like, in the sub basement of cliches.
3) I got to school on time. Which, I know, doesn't seem like a mistake, but I only got there on time, which meant the walk to school comprised of an awkward run in with a...person who is less than pleased with my general existence in his neighborhood. Thank God I had a fedora on and stared holes into the damn sidewalk. This is my fabulous burgundy fedora:
4) I have decided to eat at work for the rest of the week, and whenever I'm there. My parents don't want to feed me when I get home after closing, and I don't like paying for food. However, I'm going to have a heart attack by the time I'm 22 if I keep eating double patty bacon burgers with mayo everyday. I'm not getting any younger, as the impending commencement would imply.
5) Thinking I'd still be working at the burger joint by the time I'm 22. Unless I'm managing or owning the place.
6) Not doing my homework this whole week in favor of hours and sleep. I want to blame senioritis, but I feel like all I'm doing is trading work and numbers received for a different kind. One place involves me sitting in a classroom on the same level as monkeys and receiving a number grade for being less monkey like (though by no means not a monkey. I'm seventeen. Flinging poop is part of the job description), and the other involves getting treated like a monkey and cleaning bathrooms for money. So either way, poop seems to be a common theme.
7) I did a bad coping thing. In an attempt to take my friend's advice and forget all about a boy, I went out with a different one who turned out to be an insert-expletive-of-choice. I got stuck in South Queens and didn't know how to get back. I'm just glad the bus driver was nice. I was literally running around an intersection for a bit in a skirt, completely pissed off and frightened.
8) I missed first period today because I overslept. Almost missed second period too, but it felt excessive to miss a class where we were watching a movie that day.
9) I still haven't completed my FAFSA. My dad's none too pleased with anything I do, so he wasn't the nicest about helping me out with the whole taxes part which is basically the entire application.
10) I'm not be supportive of a friend despite her rough issues and because she was being annoying. If there's one thing that makes me feel like a bad person, it's being intentionally mean to people I like. I don't care about my hedonistic impulses or trading work for school or homework for sleep, but I know I'm doing something wrong if I'm hurting others.
11) I'm avoiding necessary confrontations. One is with a missed test, one is with a senior pictures issue, and one is with the boy I attempted to get over and failed, because in comparison the dipwad I wanted to move on with was a dipwad.
12) Another inaction-type mistake. I have a To Do List that has not been touched. In a month. Or so.
13) I had a social anxiety attack because my teacher asked me to present notes on the fly and I wasn't prepared. So I was crying in the stairwell because I stuttered a little. Drama queen? Maybe. Diagnosed? Not yet.
In an attempt to be less depressing, the next post will also be in list form. Though it will not be a rap sheet of my weekly character again.
Right, so my thirteen mistakes. In list form, so they're slightly easier to read.
1) I wore a green lace dress and the slip covering my butt kept riding up. Walking home with headphones in my ear, I didn't really realize it was happening and that everyone could see my flesh and panties. At least, not until a weird guy asked me for directions and asked if it was purposely see through, and as I turned the corner and tried to fix my slip he told me it looked good either way. Then I hightailed my hide toward the street where I live and never looked back.
2) Accepted extra responsibility at work without fully understanding the new task. Dressing the bottom bun versus what goes on the top bun, because though I work at a burger joint I don't flip them. I'm not even that dumb working teenager cliche. I'm like, in the sub basement of cliches.
3) I got to school on time. Which, I know, doesn't seem like a mistake, but I only got there on time, which meant the walk to school comprised of an awkward run in with a...person who is less than pleased with my general existence in his neighborhood. Thank God I had a fedora on and stared holes into the damn sidewalk. This is my fabulous burgundy fedora:
4) I have decided to eat at work for the rest of the week, and whenever I'm there. My parents don't want to feed me when I get home after closing, and I don't like paying for food. However, I'm going to have a heart attack by the time I'm 22 if I keep eating double patty bacon burgers with mayo everyday. I'm not getting any younger, as the impending commencement would imply.
5) Thinking I'd still be working at the burger joint by the time I'm 22. Unless I'm managing or owning the place.
6) Not doing my homework this whole week in favor of hours and sleep. I want to blame senioritis, but I feel like all I'm doing is trading work and numbers received for a different kind. One place involves me sitting in a classroom on the same level as monkeys and receiving a number grade for being less monkey like (though by no means not a monkey. I'm seventeen. Flinging poop is part of the job description), and the other involves getting treated like a monkey and cleaning bathrooms for money. So either way, poop seems to be a common theme.
7) I did a bad coping thing. In an attempt to take my friend's advice and forget all about a boy, I went out with a different one who turned out to be an insert-expletive-of-choice. I got stuck in South Queens and didn't know how to get back. I'm just glad the bus driver was nice. I was literally running around an intersection for a bit in a skirt, completely pissed off and frightened.
8) I missed first period today because I overslept. Almost missed second period too, but it felt excessive to miss a class where we were watching a movie that day.
9) I still haven't completed my FAFSA. My dad's none too pleased with anything I do, so he wasn't the nicest about helping me out with the whole taxes part which is basically the entire application.
10) I'm not be supportive of a friend despite her rough issues and because she was being annoying. If there's one thing that makes me feel like a bad person, it's being intentionally mean to people I like. I don't care about my hedonistic impulses or trading work for school or homework for sleep, but I know I'm doing something wrong if I'm hurting others.
11) I'm avoiding necessary confrontations. One is with a missed test, one is with a senior pictures issue, and one is with the boy I attempted to get over and failed, because in comparison the dipwad I wanted to move on with was a dipwad.
12) Another inaction-type mistake. I have a To Do List that has not been touched. In a month. Or so.
13) I had a social anxiety attack because my teacher asked me to present notes on the fly and I wasn't prepared. So I was crying in the stairwell because I stuttered a little. Drama queen? Maybe. Diagnosed? Not yet.
In an attempt to be less depressing, the next post will also be in list form. Though it will not be a rap sheet of my weekly character again.
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