This blog feels pointless.

So why do I write in it? I don't know, the illusion that someone is actually listening to me.

I'm going to talk about something that I don't talk about, really. It's an uncomfortable subject sometimes, I think. I'm getting fat. There, I said it. :D *shakes head* I mean, this is not good. Really not. No matter what I can't seem to work up the energy to work out anymore. I can't ride my bike, because there is still snow outside. And everytime I want to ride my treadmill, I always come up with one or another excuse. I'm sick of it. Bloody sick and tired of my own excuses. It's either too late in the evening, too early in the morning, or someone is taking a nap. Or like right now, I can't because I'm supposed to be waiting for some guy to come so he can repair our washing machine (again). That's the only reason why I'm up so outrageously early (9 o'clock. yes, that's outrageous to me). My stupid asshole of a cat woke me up at 630, because he wanted in. A quarter of an hour later, he wanted out, then he wanted in, then he wanted out, then he wanted in, and finally, by then, my other cat wanted in. I mean come on! Bloody bastard of a cat, I was ready to strangle him, literally, but he scurried under my bed the last time, so I couldn't get to him. *takes a moment to scream in frustration*

Deep breaths. Last week was absolute shit. I went to school Tuesday and Friday, and that was it. I just couldn't seem to get anything together. I have theory: the less I sleep, the more my chest hurts. I could believe it. It wasn't until Friday morning that the fog, the haze drifting over my mind, had lifted. I was in a good mood friday morning. Until I had to go to lunch and then math. *shakes head, jaw tightens* Bloody teacher gave the class a quiz, which I had to take, and out of seven problems - I could do one. It was multiple choice, we could use our calculator, but we had to show work. Unfortunately, I didn't know a damn thing. Every answer I got, even with the calculator, was wrong. I was so pissed off by the end of that. Oh, and we have a chapter test on Monday. Yep.

Plus, at lunch, I even yelled at my friend. She deserved it, with the way she was treating me last week. But still. It felt nice, I just wasn't able to stay angry for long. We were in the middle of the cafeteria. I wasn't able to get in the amount of yelling that I wanted to. I'm still pissed off. And everyone seems to be able to do obnoxious things with alarming regularity now. And every fucking time I bring up the fact that I need to drop one of my classes, because I can't handle this level of stress, one of my friends always feels fucking obligated to lecture me on how easy the class is, and how we don't really have a lot of homework, and I just want to tell them to fuck off! I know it's not a hard class. I understand that. I'm not an idiot. But it's getting to the point where I'm going to either, let's see, barely keep my head above the fucking surface, or drown. I'm trying to carry too much with me. I need to drop things. I simply, personally, can't handle this level of stress. It's too much for me, mentally and physically.

It hurts to breathe, it feels like a needle is in my heart, and tension headaches are becoming a regularity, now. I'm just not equal to this at the moment.

And then L. has decided that I'm her personal fucking psychologist or something. She uses me to word vomit to. Every day. I'm sick of her projecting her fucking life onto me, because it is always the same, and it always ruins my day. She brushes off my life, because she doesn't even care, and she always treats me like a fucking child. I'm reduced to elementary school status in her goddamn eyes. Because apparently, I can't think things through, I can't do things right, and I'm just plain stupid. She's superior, blah blah blah. Lectures, sure, from teachers, okay. From friends? Not a bloody chance in hell. She really just pisses me off now, I can't stand her. And the story we were supposed to be writing together? Yeah, she blew me off, let's see, count it, six times last week. "I'm just trying to focus on my scholarships, I'm not even going to look at them (the chapters, because she just has to edit my shit) until I've got everything done." Yeah. Fuck you. That's all I want to say to her. FUCK. YOU. But the main character was supposed to be based on her, which really just turns me off the entire story, frankly. I don't want to write about her, and every time the fucking character shows up in even the slightest of bad lights, she gets offended. Yeah. The character is not her. It's based on her. Just because she's a total bitch, doesn't mean the character is going to act like one, huh? Just because the character might go on one too many ranting rages, or acts like a fucking child, doesn't mean she does too. God! I just don't want to write the story anymore. And it's all her fault. If she wants to bug me with "oh, we need to work on the story" yeah, I'm just going to tell her, "not right now, I'm not even going to look at the story, at least not until I've got this or that done." If she wants to finally contribute to this story (which she wanted to begin in the first place), and not in the form of edits which ruin my own style of writing, she can just fuck off. I'm through with her. I'm going to write on my own book, so that I might actually get it finished by the end of the fucking year. I'm not going to waste my words on something that means so little to her. I'm not a door mat. And she needs to realize that.

But anyway. I'm still waiting for the fucking repairman to come. It's almost 930. This is getting obnoxious. And I'm really pissed off, if you can't tell. Thankfully, I haven't resorted to screaming at my computer screen yet. That would be bad.

Songs of choice?
Face Down - The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
Had Enough - Breaking Benjamin
They say it all.