And, just as I was about to give up on C--, after I'd written yesterday's entry, he comes online and talks to me, for the first time in about three weeks. Nothing solved, only a couple nods in the direction of the easy congeniality we once enjoyed. I found the very earliest e-mails he sent me, which only hurt a little more. He asked me to type the most important phrases of one up for him. After reading this, he said, "Geez, when you read that, were you thinking ‘What an ass' ?"
I'm really depressed about the whole situation with him, but I don't dare dwell on it. There isn't very much I can do if he's intent on remaining closed-off. I mean, he's in Indiana! It isn't as though I can just walk over and "talk things out". He's been so passive-agressive lately that when the conversation makes a turn he doesn't like, or he's on the verge of owning up to any intense emotions, he says he's tired and signs off (always politely, mind).
I tried making curried vegetables....that worked out alright, but I'd like an actual recipe. Unfortunately, the only ones I can find in any Indian cook books are high-fat, high-calorie. That honestly defeats the purpose. So, I jury-rigged something with vegetables, milk, curry, and cornstarch. So, as Dirk said, there would be more "gunk".
Tasted fine, but I'm rather surprised we didn't end up puking our guts out. Not having a recipe makes me nervous.
Since I'm only working two days a week, I'm beginning to dread every day that I work. Unfortunately, I've got a killer self-preservation instinct. So, when my supervisor asked me if I wanted to be extended this morning, I said "Yes." I dislike the job, I hate the people intensely (or at least, most of them), but it pays extremely well and it's a hell of a lot better than flipping burgers. I think I'd prefer death to fast-food work.
Alex has another appointment with his doctor for his strained colon....man, the guy needs to quit whatever he's doing. Either that, or quit telling us about his medical problems.
I turn 20 in two days....I wish I was excited. Birthdays have pretty much lost all meaning to me since I've turned 18. I meant to plan a party or...something.
I almost wish I was angry at someone or something. Anger keeps me focused. Anger is my friend. Without it, I feel sort of washed-out.
Here's a thought: judging by the conversations he had with Dirk while I was on vacation, it would seem that Roachboy is well on his way to convincing himself that he does not, in fact, owe me a thousand dollars. Honestly, that boy could convince himself that he's really been a girl all along if he tried hard enough.
Using Roachboy's logic, I would like to claim that I did not, in fact, cheat on him. Ever. I am convinced I did not cheat on him, therefore it becomes truth, despite whatever I may have said previously. Just as Roachboy, in his bitterness, has convinced himself that he owes me no money, despite having agreed that he does owe me the money, and agreeing to pay me back.
Sometimes I wish I had a really huge eraser, so I could just fucking wipe out all the people who've made my life more difficult. If I listed all the people who've irritated me, humiliated me, or just fucking gotten in my way, I'd be here for days.
It doesn't help that I'm anti-social.
Claire's been bitchy all day. For once in her career, she's being forced to do work. Poor baby.
I saw Krisco, or rather passed her, when I was dropping something off tonight. I still haven't quite kicked the habit of reading all the lisence plates within a 20-foot radius of my car.
We're still looking for band members. Most of my bug bites have yet to heal, because I scratch them so much. My cousin Shelly moved out of her house. Her mother's frantic. I'm so proud. She's probably utterly miserable, but at least she's away from her mother.
That should last, oh, about a week. At most. She's staying with a friend of hers, a short, fat ugly girl with frizzy dirt-brown hair. All their friends think they're lesbians. I hope my cousin has better taste, but she may be hard-up. I mean, she has got one serious zit problem.
Just when I thought it was the end of the day...Roachboy expressed a wish to talk to me. I just got fucking fed up with his attitude and his assumptions and I told him exactly what I've thought about him for the past year. I told him to fuck off. I told him how sick of him I am and how sick I think he is. I told him what an asshole I think he is. He wants to call me pathetic? At least I don't get my jollies from feeling superior to him. I actually have meaningful shit to do, stuff that makes my day worthwhile. He brags about all the shows he goes to and all the people he meets.
You know what all of that means? Shit. Roachboy is sitting on his hands, doing nothing, blaming a bunch of mental problems such as ADHD and OCD and then tries to make it sound as if his mental problems were a gift from the gods themselves. As though we should be envious, and should understand that he's an asshole and just can't help himself. He doesn't want to quit being an asshole. He likes being an asshole. He fucks with his own dogma to compensate for the fact that he's an asshole.
And being an asshole who's completely arrogant, insensitive, and full of shit becomes....expressing his feelings. Fuck him, fuck the whole Camelot bullshit I supposedly ruined, and fuck any guilt I ever felt for cheating on him.
If I hadn't cheated on him, the relationship would have been over a hell of a lot sooner. Dirk kept me sane enough to keep dating Roachboy when his sanity seemed to depend on it. Unfortunately, Roachboy's sanity always depends on dating someone.