01.03.04 Nothing seems to come out right in here anymore. Every word I type is dejavu. Every complaint I have seems to have a painfully obvious solution, which makes it that much more depressing to write about. I am fucking poor. And I'm not talking "I only have x amount of money in my bank"... I mean that "I have -x amount of money and that I'm starting to run out of ideas for food." I've been living off of the cheesecake that my Granny made for me last Sunday, bumming coffee off my neighbors, and sulking in my room. I spent all my money this past month on BF, bills, and gifts - even the Christmas money from my parents. BF didn't spend his Christmas money on food, he didn't spend his paycheck on gifts, but I did. He got himself new records and games, and now between food, cigarettes, and beer for the boy, I've managed to become completely broke. He doesn't get it because we've been doing so well for so long - we eat out and rent movies and buy beer and new clothes AND still manage to pay all our bills. Yes, we're quite lucky, but now we are arguing over the "loose change" jar in the hallway ($5 worth of change collected out of pants pockets)... it's pathetic. We fought for two hours last night about the fact that we couldn't spend that $5 from the loose-change jar on a six-pack of Miller Lite. In the end he won, claiming that he'd rather go hungry than without drink. I cried. He got drunk. Yes, VERY mature decision. And how did I come to acquire such a very mature "man", you ask? Karma. I'm sure that this is my bad karma playing itself back at me. When will I finally repay all my bad decisions? Never. Then he wakes me up this morning to ask for lunch money like he doesn't remember that we're broke. Fuckhead. And I'm still sick... compounded by the fact that I started my MASSIVE MONTHLY BLOOD FEST. (Which might explain why I'm very very ill this morning.) I don't want to go back to work on Monday, after being off for the past two weeks. I don't want to face the fact that I am not going to school again this time. I don't want to call my dad. I don't want to talk to anyone or have anyone here. I want to disappear. I want to take back the last two years of my life and make different decisions. I want to really live again. |
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