I. AM. A. FAILURE.
You know those days you just want to crawl under a rock? This is one of those. Mom wasn't that mad, she just wants me to try. Which I am, more then most. So I came home early because I felt so bad and like a totally loser, I physically made myself sick. She just left for work and right after I vomited. I just get myself so worked up and nervous. I do feel better now. Just a little.
I have nothing else to do so I'm probably just going to right a huge entry. It takes my mind off things. So I don't dwell, get sick again, and then go loose control all over the bathroom again. Gross.
Going up north to see my Aunt Bobbie and Uncle D. Aunt Bobbie isn't doing too well, so I kind of feel obligated to go, just in case this is one of the last times I see her. Too bad, because she's a great person. Rheumitoid Arthritis is kicking her butt. That and the medication.
Still no news on the boy front. But that's always going to be the same. Along with my recent failure at everything I have come up with my new theory. I'm going to work at Taco Bell/Gas Station across from the high school my whole life. I'm going to live in the place behind it in my truck camper. But, no matter how tiny my camper is, I will always have 14 cats. When not at work I'm going to wear huge dresses and robes. I will be a spinstress and a virgin until I die... most likely from my cats turning on me and eating me alive.
That is going to be my life story. I won't be a director. I won't get into Columbia. I won't make a difference. I won't be married. But I will have cats. Lots of them.
This is more like a pity entry for me. Just because I'm sad and I need to get it off my back. Not just the failure [but that's most of it], but all of the doubts I have in my head about...well... everything.