So I’m sitting around my apartment this evening, wishing I could go out and do something, but there’s no one to do it with. Friends have plans, another won’t call me back. And I start to think “Everyone hates me, it figures, and I totally suck. Also, I am unlovable.”
And then, as boredom catches up with me and I read my older posts on here, I see that I wrote the same thing. About 29 days ago. Which means that I’m perfectly fine and no one hates me!! I’m just in the mad grip of hormones! Yay! I think.
Okay, so it’s not actually cause for celebration. This just means that in 2-3 days I will wish I was dead. Last month, or was it the month before, I called a friend and begged her to come over with an exacto knife, a leather strap, and a bottle of bourbon. I was requesting an emergency hysterectomy. The bourbon was going to be doubly beneficial as an antibacterial and a pain-killer. She refused, the heartless bitch!
See, I told you they all hate me.