Sad

It's official, I'm the greatest sad-sack to have ever lived.

I'm currently sitting in the middle of my floor wearing a sombrero, looking at the time and deciding I've been stood up, and listening to Violet Hill by Coldplay. The only things I'm missing are a Chai tea, a big bowl of ice cream, and tears streaming down my face. This promises to be a poor weekend.

Because of an all-the-fucking-time-seriously workshop my mom's been enrolled in, I've had to spend all day with my dad. Tomorrow, too. This workshop goes from the asscrack of dawn to the vaginal twitch of night, and the whole time is spent trying not to go crazy when he does irritating little things like rearrange on the plate the cookies I've been making since four o' clock, or use our bathroom without flushing the toilet, or stand around doing nothing when the space he is taking up could be so more easily used for something.

I know that this sounds harsh, but I cannot stand being alone with my father for this long. My mother is an excellent mediator between the two of us. I've been able to go on weeklong trips with him, as long as she's there, too. And when she isn't, well... I'm about to jump out the window and flee to Wyoming. And there's not even toilets in Wyoming! (sorry, Wyoming)

And I'm stuck at home for the rest of the night. I subconsciously do this thing where I set a certain time limit for people before I give up on them. Andy's was 7:10, and he isn't here. So I've leapt to the conclusion that I've just been stood up, and I can now proceed to strip off all my clothes and climb into bed with all the lights off, where I will cry and play Violet Hill about six hundred more times.

I sometimes wonder what kind of person I'll be when I actually have responsibilities. When I lost my job, I walked fast with tears streaming down my face all the way to my friend's house, where I proceeded to get high. When my cat died, I couldn't sleep for a week, since I kept waking up to cry. And when it became painfully obvious that my dad had no real plans to help me buy a car, a vital key in the chance of my employment, as I live twenty miles away from anything good, I couldn't speak one word of it without choking up. 

This isn't to say that I cry constantly. It actually takes a lot to get the waterworks going, and so I wonder how I'll even deal with these things that make me bawl when there's so much more pressure on them, and when I have nobody to back me up and love me unconditionally, no matter how stupid I look with red eyes. Will I come off too strong trying to hide my pain? Will I be even worse, sobbing when a file is accidentally deleted or I sneeze and make a mistake? Or will I live, and learn, and become a strong, independent woman who only cries at her grandfather's funeral, because he was more of a father to her than her real father?

Maybe then, I'll look back on this petite teenager with "Lighten Up!" written on her hand, and I'll thank the Goddess that I got over that phase.