to make a mixed CD.
candiedsky has written 83 entries about this goal
My… third time going up there.
We’re leaving at like 7 in the morning and it’s a long drive. I would like to get up beforehand and do a short run. But that depends on the weather. I don’t think that would even be the real issue. My lazy ass is more to blame for ‘not getting up’.
But yes. I won’t be able to post until Wednesday or Thursday. So I just thought I’d make a post on that subject.
The drive to the chiropractor took 45 minutes.
I get in there and start filling out forms.
Turns out they don’t accept my health insurance.
Even though I already called them a week ago, and they told me they did.
Rejected from two schools, and now, a sports clinic.
My life really just sucks. I was super excited about today. I thought I’d be able to get back to running soon. But now I have to find some other clinic and who knows how long that’s gonna take. I hate this.
I assume I’ll have to run on one of those treadmills, so they can ‘analyze’ my gait.
I just hope I can get back to running ASAP.
Today was absolute shit.
At work today, I overheard sexy J talking to one of my coworkers. His girlfriend is in Chile right now, and she’s coming back to visit him soon. The coworker said, “Oooooh, are you in loooooove?” and I heard him say immediately, “Yes I am. Well- no…” and then I couldn’t hear anything after that.
He has a girlfriend. Ugh.
My mom came to pick me up from work, reeking of alcohol. She backed into my bosses car and then drove off. I can’t even process my anger right now.
Then I get home and check my e-mail.
I got rejected from the University of Vermont.
Fuck everything. Fuck my life. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
There’s a guy at work named Nick, and he reminds me of him.
Nick acts like an 8 year old boy. When I get to work, instead of saying hello to me, he makes special effect noises – like explosion sounds and fake air guitar gestures, and then he’ll just walk away. He always hums and sings songs.
This level of immaturity makes me smile. Because I can tell he’s not doing it to break any ‘tension’. I believe Nick said he was 25 or 26 years old. But his persona is not.
Nick reminds me so much of him; it takes my mind to a level before nostalgia, and maybe one before that. Maybe a novel ignorance, a happier and previous life, before I knew his face so well.
My mom doesn’t have to go to physical therapy anymore, because the place got shut down. My mom said the last time she went there, the lady who does her physical therapy gave her a bag with some stress balls and pain relieving gel and pamphlets about other places to continue her physical therapy. Then she said the lady started crying because they were getting shut down.
And just her telling me this made me really sad.
My dream of going to the University of Oregon has been temporarily killed. I have to go to some other school for at least a year. Some other school. That I have no desire to even attend.
I can’t run for the next few weeks because of my hip. This is going to seriously impact my performance on the day of my half marathon.
My butt looks like it’s getting smaller. My big butt was the only thing I liked about my physical appearance. Now I officially hate myself. I feel like I’m gaining weight, but none of it is going to my ass.
My doctor gave me this anti-inflammatory medication for my hip. I have to take it. It contains lactose. I’ve been vegan for 6 years and counting. So, in regards to veganism, I feel like a failure as well.
Due to my injury, I’ve had to miss a lot of work. And so I am now making less money.
Everything is falling apart. I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve these past few weeks.
- school dream: gone
- my booty: gone
- my ability to run: gone
- feeling like I have control over consuming animal products: gone
- reasonable paychecks: gone
do people continuously try to bring up their pasts? Bad memories? Feeling sorry for themselves? “The importance” of remembering where they came from.
If it’s bad enough, who needs a reminder of something like that? You won’t forget. You don’t need to write a book about it. My mom has kept a diary of almost everything I’ve done since I was born. Anything big I’ve done. Any event that she thinks is significant. She dates them and writes them down. I’ve flipped through the diary. Most of the entries are bad. Like, 90% of my life is a bad memory. She wrote about the time I ran away from my preschool. And she wrote about the time I ran away from middle school and almost got arrested. And she wrote about the time I was four and she found me cutting up a picture of my face because I said I didn’t like my face.
I hate that diary. I remember her saying she was going to give it to me before I moved out, as like a present or something. Why would I want that?
Once, when she wasn’t home, I took the diary and I went outside and I threw it away. Then about five minutes later I went back outside and I got it out of the trash and put it back in her room on the shelf. I never told her about it. (Why would I?)
I do know, though; if she gives it to me when I move out, I’ll throw it away for good. Maybe I’ll burn it.
I heard myself laugh today.
The sound waves managed to reach my ears, but that was it. It took a few seconds to register that this sound I was hearing was from me. I wasn’t humoured. I didn’t feel like laughing.
A word on smiling: since the second I found out I got rejected from the University of Oregon, every single time I’ve tried to smile, the words Denied Admission appear in my mind, as a mocking flash. And that ends every smile abruptly.
About a week ago, I ordered a University of Oregon sweatshirt and tank top. It sounds so foreign: that just a few days ago I was brimming with hope for my albeit promised shining future. I ordered these clothes before I’d receive the most jarring news of my entire life.
They arrived in the mail today, snugly shrink-wrapped and delivered on time by UPS. Opening that package felt like the worst slap in the face one could ever feel.
I’ve been getting that sinking feeling all the time now. My eyes look sad.
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