SHIT SHIT SHIT. I NEED MONEY SO BADLY THAT I'M AT A LOSS OF THE APPROPRIATE WORDS TO DESCRIBE MY DESPONDENCE; HENCE I'M RESORTING TO TYPING IN ALL CAPS SO AS TO CONVEY THE DEPTHS OF MY DESPERATION AND SADNESS AND GLOOMY...NESS.
Why does life suck so hard? Why am I too lazy to find a proper job?
Seventy-seven dollars, for crying out loud. And there I was, thinking I still had a good two hundred bucks to go before I declare myself bankrupt. I'm so desperate that I'm going for an interview at some modelling agency, though chances are I'm way too fat to model. Shit. I can't believe this is happening to me again.
I swear, my mom totally gave me her spendthrift gene. Of course, that was when she had a relatively high-paying job and could afford to splurge every now and then. The difference between her and me is, of course, that I don't have a high-paying job; never did, probably never will, LLB (Hons) or otherwise (since, you know, I'm not gonna be a lawyer or anything like that, because I'd seriously rather die).
And the worst part of this entire fiasco? I don't even know where my stupid money went.
I need clothes! I need books! I need DVD! I need spending power! I need money! Someone help me!
This is ridiculous.
Here's a tip: Don't make promises you never intended to keep.
Here's a tip for myself: Don't go out with people whom you can't afford to lose.
Even better: Don't go out with people whose affection you can't take, which would only make you run in the opposite direction.
I think I am the biggest moron ever. By moron, I mean emotional retard. Sexual idiot. I should've got laid ten million years ago, for god's sake. This is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH ME.
I'm telling you, the urge I had to just run away that day was the strongest in quite a while. This is what I do best, you see: when things get a little bit intense my first instinct is to bolt. And there I was, whining on and on about how I want drama in my life, and when I was really confronted with drama I decided that I didn't want to deal.
I still don't want to deal. I leave them waiting and trick them into thinking I don't care, when in fact I think about them all the time. And I don't really know why, and I have a faint idea that I'm using them, that it's not them I want but what they represent. The feeling of being worshipped - I've missed it. It's so egotistical and disgusting but I've missed it and I like it. It makes me feel wanted...even better, it makes me feel desired. And I would've given in but I didn't, couldn't, because I knew it was wrong, or at least not right.
Even if you'd stayed and I'd gone along with you, I'd be using you. Nothing more, nothing less. That's why I pulled back that day, wanted desperately to leave, haven't contacted you at all.
I'm a trainwreck. We'd be like Marissa Cooper and Kevin Volchok (and no, I can't believe I'm using an OC reference. God help me), a disaster waiting to happen.
Well, what does it matter.
Strange, isn't it, that the only guy that's truly wanted me in a really, really long time is currently 9539 miles away.
Needless to say, if I felt the same way, I'd only be in it for the physical gratifications.
I feel sick to my stomach.
I want to be normal.