I’m bored. I’m pissed off. I just hacked up blood, which would have been gross on its own, but even grosser that it ended up on the bathroom wall. I’m terrible company and yet I’m furious that, yet again, there’s no one here. It’s not that I need need anyone to be here, but you know, when you splatter blood on the bathroom wall, it’s nicer if the conversation goes
Me: Oh god.
Anyone but me: What?
Me: I just hocked a huge wad of blood on the bathroom wall. Is that normal?
Anyone but me: I don’t think so. Do you feel bad otherwise?
Me: No, I feel pretty good.
Anyone but me: Okay, well then, let’s keep an eye on it and, if it happens again, let’s call the doctor.
Me: Okay, thanks. That makes me feel less freaked out.
I’m tired and I’m tired of being tired. I’m bored and lonely but I’m in no condition to have guests.
I should just have it out with the Butcher, because I’m pissed that the second my parents left he ditched me to go hang out with his friends. I have seen him a grand total of maybe thirty minutes in the past three days.
And yet, what kind of mean-ass person am I for wanting company for my misery? I mean, this sucks for me. Why would I want someone who felt fine to just sit around and keep an eye on me when it means four days of shitty television and me being a big baby?
So, what can you do? If you’re me, inflict it on the internet instead, I guess.