Hands Off My 'Za

My college is doing some renovations. Because the dining room is in the same building as the bookstore, which is being renovated, there's a lot of noise in the dining room, and it makes it hard to do our Between Class activities.

Some people play that game Magic, or watch something on a laptop, or wonder of wonders, study. Our college has break out rooms, small rooms (with dry erase boards for walls!) with table, chairs, and a television. They're for studying.

Since the renovations, my group of misfits has been checking out a break out room for a chunk of the day.

I want to pull my hair out.

I'm not proud of this next part of the story...

One kid that hangs out went to high school with me. He has Asperger's Syndrome. The real kind, not the Internet jerk kind. He is difficult to be around. I'm more used to it and have learned to ignore a bunch of stuff. And, I don't play Magic. He does, and according to the kids that do, he is almost impossible to play with and drives them crazy.

I can't attest to that part of the story.

One day, we had a breakout room, and the kid came knocking. I didn't have the room in my name, so I couldn't say who could not come in. Rosie had the room in her name and decided that he couldn't come in. But she didn't open the door to tell him that. Instead, we all ignored him until he left.

I feel like shit that I did that. There's no reason I couldn't have opened the door and said; "Look dude, we're full (which was true, there were already five of us in the room, and these are small rooms) we're not playing Magic (there was no room to, apparently. Again, don't play so I don't know), and there isn't room for you to set up your laptop." (That was true, too. He wants to use a table, and the table space was taken. The general rule in our group is first come, first claim. No one is going to move--unless they're in class--for you to set up camp.)

I didn't do any of those things. I let him feel like a fool. And I feel terrible about it. Ugh. I understand that it's hard for people to deal with people like that. I need to figure out something else to do.

But also, one day, I decided to order some pizza. I wanted some, and getting lunch made is now a pain in the ass, so why not, right? Mistah Jay decided he'd order two pizzas too. So now there are four pizzas being ordered.

One kid's friend and girlfriend (note: this girl? She sat NEAR us all semester and never spoke to us. We have tried speaking to her, but she steadfastly ignored us. I don't know if she's shy or what, but it was really off putting) asked if they could "Wait for Reptar--someone we actually know-- in here".

Before I could say anything, they were allowed in. So now I'd have to have three extra people eating the food I'd bought. Two of these kids I didn't even know. That irked me, because you can't just eat in front of other people, especially when there's an abundance of food!

And this chick was pretty rude, too. She got snippy because Mistah Jay lent me fifty cents, and snapped that he bought pizza, so he shouldn't give me ANYTHING. I said that I had also bought pizza, and Mistah Jay blinked and said he always gave me quarters.

And it's true, throughout the day he usually gives me a dollar or two for a drink or to get some fries or candy or whatever. I rarely ask, he usually just gives it to me and tells me to get whatever I'd like. It's lovely of him, and I always say thank you.

so this chick rolled her eyes and said she wished she had someone to give HER money. I wondered where Reptar was to give her some money, but kept mum.

Anyway, the pizza arrived, and I put down my two and said those were the only two we were opening. She glared at me.

"Mistah Jay said we could eat his."
"He asked me to save his when he was on his way to the comic book store."
"No! He said two pieces! So we can eat it."
"We are NOT eating his food unless HE is here."

So she sulked. Reptar arrived and began to dig into the food. Without saying thank you. Or hello, actually. He just started shoveling food in his mouth. And his girl who KNEW I bought the pizza refused to thank me, and waited until my back was turned to take some.

I'm pretty irritated about it. I shouldn't be. I told everyone flatly that was the last time I bought food for other people. I did get plenty of thank yous, but I don't like being treated rudely when I spend a lot of money on food for people I don't even know. Who then think they're above thanking me.

Also, I am mad at Rosie for telling everyone who walked in that I bought lunch and they could help themselves. Thanks for giving away my food!

I Know That I've Let You Down

Dear She Who Must Be Kept,

I have, to the best of my ability, tried to keep the peace around here. After our last discussion about how I hurt you and make you feel like a failure, I have done my best to be better. I wasn't sure how, as you can never give me a clear answer about what I do wrong, but I tried.

Which is more than I can say for you.

For four years I begged for help to get a room. You resisted and refused and threw a fit. For about three days my bed sat in my room untouched because you refused to ask Croc to put it together, even though he was the only one who could. Because for you, it was better for me to lay sleepless on the couch while you and Croc caroused on school nights until four in the morning.

But I am the one who hurts you.

After this last fight where you couldn't give me a clear answer about what I do wrong... After you couldn't even give me a clear answer about what I could do DIFFERENTLY to make you happy...

I'm more or less done.

I cried a lot. I cried for probably three straight hours. I woke up twice in the middle of the night and cried. I cried for my own confusion, my pain, my sense of abandonment; which is nothing new coming from you. You've always been obsessed with making sure that when I was gone, you had someone else to catch you when you fell.

But I'm done crying. I am. Know why?

You. Are not. Worth it.

You have shown me numerous times that I'm not worth your time--your love--you are, by that token, not worth my tears.

And it kills me to say things like that. I'm sure if you knew you'd fly into another rage that you're so famous for anymore. Good job icing me out, by the way! I love that you only do that when Croc is around, too.

You must think I'm stupid. Please. You raised me better than that.

Also, clinginess will drive your friends away faster than the supposed crimes your 21 year old has committed. Just--just saying.

I get that the way you treat me is nothing personal. OlderBrother refuses to listen to a word you say. You can't change your job. You've got yourself in a pit you can't get yourself out of. I get that screaming at me is all you think you can do. I'm the only one that listens.

Just remember I'm the only fucking thing you've got. And you're driving me away. I don't see how you think this is going to make you a winner in the end.

And to say I don't appreciate you? That I've never told you that? You can just piss right off, you martyr. That is such bullshit and we both know it. I'll just remind you of that damn diamond ring I got you. Oh and the notes I leave you for on the TV telling you how sorry I am you work so hard and how glad I am to have you? That's... What?

I can't wait to leave. And you're going to cry when I'm gone because you already do. I don't know what you're mad about, but I just can't fix it. YOU fix it, YOU fix YOU. That's what you've always told me.

And that mysterious thing you claim has been making me depressed since October? You're the only one who sees it. The quotes I've gotten; "You're only depressed when your Mom gets after you."


...Yeah.

I think you're projecting.

So, just remember that I love you. I love you so much. You just can't seem to appreciate it.

-Taima

Stupid Laundry

After several days of trying, I have finally reset my sleep clock. It's almost one in the morning, I am exhausted, and ready to climb into bed. (It only took two days, six miles of walking while running on four hours of sleep, seven episodes of Sailor Moon, and wanting to pull my eyes out to do it... but it is done.)

But I am not in bed, am I? Oh no, I'm sitting in my new jammies, waiting for the dryer, which is full of Not My Clothes to be done. Why? Because I need to put My Clothes in the dryer, so my hoodie will not be covered in cat hair, I'll have clean panties, and so I 'll have more than one pair of jeans around.

But no. The dryer--it won't be done. It just REFUSES to dry the clothes. Or the clothes refuse to be dry. And no amount of coaxing will convince anything otherwise. Like;
"Oh little clothes. Don't you want to be dry? Don't you want to be all neatly folded (read: thrown on top of the dryer as they are Not Mine) and worn to be seen in public?... No? WELL FUCK YOU! You're CLOTHES AND YOU DON'T HAVE A DAMN CHOICE! FUCK! JUST BE DRY!"

The dryer just merrily keeps spinning, as though daring me to stop it yet again to check my things.

"Go ahead, Taima. Open me. You know you want to. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO."

And I do. I do hardcore. At least I can say with certainty that the three pairs of panties in there that ARE mine ARE dry. My things are always much better behaved than anything else!

My eyes are trying to close. Trying to convince me to forget it, go commando in my new jammies to school, wear my full length wool winter coat to school, even though it isn't cold enough for that. Just look like a freak! Who cares! You'll be in Oscar the Grouch jammies anyway!

Fuuuuuck me. I just want this to be done with. I'm so tired.

I also used my Magic Hair Remover Wand! while tired. Now I look surprised. By everything. :(

How Do I Feel This Good Sober?

I really dislike going to parties. I know that's one of the strangest things you can ever hear a twenty something say. Actually, let me rephrase that--

I don't like the sort of parties that people my age throw.

My parties always involve sleeping on the floor while watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force, after playing Rock Band and watching endless movies, having gorged ourselves on pizza and one another's company. My festive companions tend to wake up, dragging themselves from the room to the kitchen to sip leftover pop and munch on cold pizza.

I don't understand this whole LET'S GET WAAAAAAAAAASTED mentality that most people under the age of twenty seven seem to have. Wasted? What? Why? Why is that fun!!! You get drunk and then you either A) hit on someone early and sleep with them, typically with tragic results B) do something really stupid and get in a fight with someone, typically with tragic results C) puke, with tragic results D) pass out, with tragic results or E) get in a vehicle intoxicated, typically with tragic results, and not always tragic results that are only going to affect you.

Know what I'm seeing that's a common thread in all of this?

Tragic. Results. Tragic, tragic, TRAGIC results. And yet, once people have shaken off their hangovers, wiped the puke off their furniture, their clothes, their hair, once they've chewed their arms off to get away from that ugly person they spent last night with, or once they've woken up in someone else's bathtub---all they can think about is going out to do it again.

Wait--wait--WHAT? You were completely trashed, you have little to no memory of any of the hare brained things that you got up to last night (and not many of them are as innocent as wearing a lampshade on your head) but you want to do it AGAIN? NEXT WEEKEND?!?! And every weekend after?!?!

(I want to note here that for some of those drunk driving accident victims, there is no waking up to shake off their hang overs. For some of them, there is no waking up at all... Please, please, please if you're going to indulge in this point of excess, be responsible enough not to climb behind a wheel.)

Maybe this is because I grew up with Drunk!Dad, maybe it's because I just don't like the taste of alcohol--because no, I am not innocent. I have indulged, and while I have done dumb shit, thankfully there was no long term damage, except perhaps to my ego--but I really, really don't understand this.

But what bothers me even more is the fact that drunk people my age seem to have little to no responsibility for their own actions. They seem to believe that the sober people at the party will keep track of them, make sure they are safe, and clean up any messes that they make, simply because they are SOBER.

I don't know about anyone else, but when I go to a party, I go to have fun. I get paid when I baby sit. And that's not to say that I'm going to let someone drown in vomit, or I'm going to leave broken glass laying around. You better believe I'll clean that up so no one gets hurt...

But I don't want to have to do it in the first place. If you can't hold your liquor, don't drink! Or at least don't drink somewhere that you could get hurt (which is just about everywhere, unless your Sober!friend(s) have agreed to watch you). Like I've said, maybe it's just me who finds the way drunk people act so unattractive.

I understand I sound like a priss in this, but Jesus Christ, I just--I just hate it.