Unfortunately, such beautiful scenery and attire is not without me acting like a fucking idiot, as I was the first to spear myself on the sharp, and frankly, hard stones after losing my footing on uneven surfacing. And I squeaked. I withheld the curses I wanted to scream rather loudly as the onlooking guys (the ladies dates, though the girls outnumbered them by a pretty fair ratio, surprised how many girls were without dates, it seems like for a lot of 15-16 year olds, dating someone used to DEFINE you, it's a refreshing change to see less boy craze) - and concerned parents, eyed me all at once while I staggered to my feet with an achy tailbone. Yes, as far as the rocks went, I'd hit a pretty dull one, but the lack of cushioning on my upper ass did not do me favors, and I found myself, even at what could be considered neutral posture and footing, to be hurting. And I still feel the effects of my idiocy, bleeding over into the next day, right now, as I sit in my bed flat and type this. Every. Fuckin'. Time. I move. My ass.
The contusion that it left is ironically very small, a tiny daub of purple above my ass crack compared to the pain that seems to seer whenever I move in the wrong way. It's funny how something bruises so small but impacts painfully enough, not to fully inhibit my movement, but enough to make me think "why did you have to spear your damn flat ass on a rock, Audrey?". This week has seemingly been a series of blunders.
Early in the week everything seemed to be going decently, though I was still recovering from the fact that my flaky friend flaked out on me on a Friday, fucking fuck fuck (note to self: stop trying to make shit alliterative).
like the Virgo he is, he slaved away at collegiate work all night and overslept, and apologized to me with a halfhearted "I disappoint people" excuse.
Yeah, Brandon, like I don't understand that. I've been disappointing people for the last five years of my life, what's good?
I don't even understand why I am still trying with him. Because I am hopelessly addicted to the idea that he's a good person, but he's also a workaholic and that clearly interferes with a. Lot of shit? I should just stop needlessly wandering around the subject here.
Aside from that, what was formerly my grandmother's cat watch broke on Wednesday. One of the fasteners holding the watch strap in place snapped and fell onto my floor. The clutter made it impossible to relocate, so I eventually admitted defeat and set the watch's remaining parts aside. On Friday, after a safe day of no breakage, I hit a double whammy. In the middle of classes, less than 30 minutes prior to end of the week early release, my sandal strap snapped. This wouldn't have been such an issue if the sandals in question weren't two inch platforms. I proceeded to absentmindly exit school shoeless and drive to get food. Of course, I realized that it would be quite hard to get food, at a walk in sandwich restaurant, with no shoes. So I forced myself to do it in broken ones. Which was only moderately annoying. Moderately. When I got home and took my every 30 minute break on the can, my elastic underwear snapped. Apparently my hips were too fat for some shoddily made VS elastic undies. Thanks, Vicky.
Yesterday, the air conditioning in my father's car proceeded to stop working midday. Luckily it wasn't that stinkin' hot out.
Have I become some kind of bad luck magnet or charm? Has Lonely Boy's flakiness put some kind of curse upon me that I can only rid myself of if I can convince him to stop being so lonely? Nooooo one knows! All I know is that shit keeps breakin' when I'm around.