Bad Mood

I am really tired. I don't know why. I'm also really unmotivated to change my clothes and go to bed. I'm in a really bad mood at the moment, so be glad you're not here with me. I'm not sure where this mood came from, but it's not very nice. Sometimes I think I should just stay in bed for the day.

So I guess my day started out pretty good, but then one thing happens, then another, and another, another, another, and so on, until it's midnight and I'm so irritated I'll scream if anyone talks to me. On the way home, I saw a car weaving all over the lanes of the highway and I saw him go around me and knew he couldn't squeeze between me and the car next to me. For a moment I hoped he would just swerve into my car so I could forget about everything else that's going on (or not going on) in my life right now. But he didn't. So here I am. At home. The place I should feel comfortable, and right now, the only place I don't want to be. I debated begging a friend to stay at their place just to get away from the hassle of my house, but I resisted. Mostly because I figured I would get rejected. I couldn't even come in the front door tonight. I had to go through the backyard. Plus, my bathroom has no sink, and in the process of removing it, dirt and other unidentifiable "grit" has formed a layer of yuck all over the inside of the bathtub. And they're coming back tomorrow.

And then there's this friend that can't seem to cut the cord to her cell phone, but can also never seem to manage to pick up the phone when I call. I don't understand what can't wait for two hours, why those text messages are so much more urgent than anything else, why I'm waiting in the parking lot for her to finish her call. I also don't understand why she is always running late for pretty much everything, or why she says I'll call you when she has no intention. Why she lies and says she has to go to the bathroom, but really has to hit the speed dial with what has become a trigger finger.

And then there's other stuff that I realize throughout the day about this same person I follow around all the time, and I try to let it roll off, but it really doesn't want to. It wants to stick to my ribs like the pancakes I used to eat in Libby Hall as a freshman. At his house, a girl's pair of flip flops I've never seen before, left at the back door as if the owner might live there, or at least visits frequently. A pink hair implement (curling iron?) left in the "other" bathroom, standing out against the pearly white of the tile. Things that are clearly not his. Things that weren't there before. Things he's not telling me about.

There's the leftovers we shared. Leftovers that are a bit questionable, with skins on eggplant that looks more like mackerel, but it tastes ok so it's fine with me. I know the restaurant it came from, and I know who likes to eat there. He tells me when he got it, I remember that day, the day I was sitting here waiting for him to call for a celebration and my phone remained silent. Because he celebrated with someone else. The owner of the foreign objects? Perhaps. My guess is yes.

But really, it doesn't even matter. I can't get mad, because it's none of my business. Which is why I don't ask either. Why I didn't want to talk the other day. Because when I talk, I get hurt. When he doesn't talk, I get hurt. It seems like in every scenario, I get hurt. And that's because I am last in a long line of priorities and desires. My sense of import diminishes with every revelation. To know how easily I become small and peripheral. It only takes a second.