I managed to go to both of my classes today, which if you know me, is a Major Feat. I was bored to tears in both. Then I called my fake-boyfriend and he actually picked up, which was surprising considering I thought he was ignoring my texts. Turns out his cellphone provider’s server was down and he hadn’t been getting any texts. Whoops. Thou shalt not jump to conclusions, ohrebecca.
(It’s difficult not to. I say/do stupid things on a near-constant basis. I said/did stupid things yesterday. Any other normal human being would ignore me, hell, I’d ignore myself. The logical conclusion was: he is ignoring you; he no longer likes you.)
The truth is, I don’t know.
Fake-boyfriends are hard to have.
Especially when you’re a worrywart like me. I’ve always been like this. I worry incessantly, it’s what I do. You know how Detroit is dirty and there are bags and boxes and random piles of things all over the streets? Well, one time I saw a video of a guy dumping garbage bags of puppies (no, really) on a street — you didn’t see that they were full of puppies until the puppies were crawling out of the bag. And anyway, now whenever I see a bag or box or random pile of junk on the road, I freak out and worry that it’s a bag or box or random pile of kittens or puppies and I will simultaneously try my hardest to avoid hitting said object in the road while also feeling compelled to stop and check on the “kittens” or “puppies”. That’s how ridiculously worried I can be.
I guess fake-boyfriends are kind of like bags or boxes or random piles of kittens or puppies on the road, to me.
Also, I hate dating.
I think I deserve better. Maybe. I’m not sure yet.
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