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more drivel

The 6 or 7 messages I sent him only got this reply, at about 5pm today.

Hey. Sorry. Had band practice from twelve till now.

I sent him another 2 messages after, no reply. I have deleted his number so I’m not tempted to phone him.

Went to rehearsal, told the girls I work with that I’m recovering, they were all pretty understanding and are as confused as I am regarding why he would say such weird things. Thing is, he’s a boy. They do shit like this. It’s as much a part of their nature as scratching their balls.

I phoned my mom. She showed hardly any sympathy, told me that’s what happens when you date someone you hardly knew beforehand, I should just get over it right away, and stop wishing so badly that I had a boyfriend.

I spent most of the day sitting and battling to breathe. My digsmate took me out for lunch. I did a little french assignment for the tourism class, and I am now doing my translation work, which requires translating a fuck-long boring article on the history of Russia. From french to English. I still don’t have money for sleeping pills. I think I might regain a sense of humour tomorrow.

I really wish he would come here. I am shamefully missing him, I’m ashamed that I want him and I feel like a spurned dog because he said we are incompatible and he doesn’t know how he feels. Which means I am here pining for him and he might not be feeling anything for me. Feel like that kid in every Physical Ed class who is always last to be picked for a team.

In other news, my neighbours have bought a vuvuzela and are learning how to play it tonight, at half past damn eleven.

You see how my sense of humour is very slowly creeping back in.

Oh, hint, always have medication on hand, you never know when life will pull the fuzzy carpet out from under your naked toes and go SHUT THE FUCK UP IDIOT! I LIKED YOU BETTER WHEN YOU WERE SULKING!

Okay yeah, I’m still a little grouchy. Did I mention I’ve cried enough water to create a small lake for Ethiopia? What can I say, I’m just generous like dat.

Hey, this could be way worse. I could have done something that would have gotten me pregnant. I could have spent a crapload of money on him. I could have sacrificed friends for him. Instead, pshht, I just let him into my room and my heart and my family. And my MSN Messenger profile picture, and my flower vase, and my schedule and my hair follicles.

Pshht. Marty dealt wid bigga shit dan dis, mon. I fukken stared death and toadal insanity in dem faces. I seen blood and betrayal and distance tearin mah fukken art right out. Splat on the floor. So I can do dis and I can do harder dan dis. I am stronger dan dis. Is all i’m saying.

Now let’s go read bout Russia in French mon. The English say USSR, the French say l’URSS. I ain’t shittin ya mon. This some weeeird shit.



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