OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG I'm just so excited! I go to school every day! Every day! School school school! My roommate is SO nice. She doesn't make me pay rent. I get to live rent-free! My parents pay my cell phone bill, so I live free free free!
It does not stop me from crying loudly into my pillow when I am failing my classes. But my passion for school is so strong that I will keep on going and keep on trying no matter what, like an anime theme song.
I go for walks. I meet people. I met a girl named Paige, and she was a little terrible to me. She liked restaurants and food. She wanted pizza, but didn't. I wanted to please her because I am a Pisces or something, so I called the pizza place. She was giving me instructions on what to say to the woman on the phone, but continuously changing her mind with a pained look on her face which threatened to break into a smile.
Eventually she began to laugh. It really did look painful. I couldn't help laughing with her.
I think I am an expert on my roommate! I can always tell when she's talking to her father. Mind you, she is prone to fits of excitement! If we were divided in such a way, I would say that she is the performer and that I am the audience. A loud shriek, her bare feet slapping fast against the floor towards my door which she barges through to share whatever. The phone rings, it's her father, and she's all gloom. As if she's saying "I'm not happy, dad, I promise."
Poor Salsa, though. She is terrified and threatened by the female form and the ideas of it in men's minds. She thinks she is too thin, and "not fun to touch." I wonder about my own sexuality as the offer to touch her does not quite make it out of my mouth. I think it would be quite a bit of fun, but we'll keep that here.
I'm not picky about food. I'm NOT picky about food. It all goes in. Oh, except meat. Animals are my friends!
Sometimes when my roommate isn't home, I go into her room and lie on her king sized bed. She's from Thailand, and she is very thin. I lie on her laundry piles and cry. I guess I cry a lot. It is essential to my BEING. No tears, no Ella.
This is the reverse option to drinking up the good stuff. I like to think of crying as vomiting up the bad stuff. Tears really do feel like vomit to me sometimes, and I take a sort of perverse pleasure in letting them get on everything.
I bow and submit to invisible authorities, and so do you. Promise me you won't lie about it anymore.