This week has sucked worse than any imaginable. Let's recap:
Sunday - Drank. Alot. Sat with Ryno and Aimee and cried about what was only going to get worse as the week progressed. Couldn't sleep; sat in the cold and talked to Anjelica. Still couldn't sleep. Felt very inadequate, finally fell asleep about 12 seconds before the little bastard arrived.
Monday - Little Bastard. As if that wasn't enough, cleaned the kitchen and called Nate to see if I would get a visit from him. No reply. Ended up sitting alone while Aimee and Ryno...well you know.
That thing that other people do in my house.
Tuesday - Work meeting. Called Nate again to see if he wanted to go out or come by - don't I sound desperate (just wait) - and went home to little bastard. Aimee's mom then begins survalence of my home. At this point, pissed off can't even begin how upset I was. Deal with her, go to Barnes & Noble to take care of Kate. Strap into something decent looking and hope that maybe he'll come by. 7 rolls around...then 8...then 9. Ryno comes over and in the kindest way possible informs me that Nate told him, "She's just not my type." WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??? How am I not his type??? So, now that my soul is completely broken, I have to save face in sight of COMPLETE HUMILIATION in front of Aimee, Kate, Ryno, Josh, John, Anjelica, and Pam. So I destroyed a board with my ax and then I pretended I was fine until I couldn't fake it any longer. Then I cried. And cried. ...and cried. I feel so empty and stupid and useless and worthless and I wish he would call me or talk to me. Passed out in pain physically and emotionally dead. I have never hurt this bad in all my life.
Wednesday - Stayed in bed while little bastard roamed freely. Just didn't care. Got up, cooked, stared at myself and wondered what was so wrong with me. Got dressed, and got rid of the kid. Went to bed and and just laid there until Anjelica got home. Talked to her, wanted to call Nate and apologize. The girls wouldn't let me; they insisted I'd done nothing wrong. I just wanted to hear his voice. Cried some more. I hate feeling this way. Set fire to some stuff of his that I had kept. Gave up, went to bed.
Thursday - Same old with the kid. Stayed in bed until Anjelica got there. Saved face for a little while. Saw Stacy. Went home, had a horrible OCD attack, cried harder than before. Took a three hour bath. Went to bed hugging his yearbook. Still nothing.
Today - Slept till 3pm. Got up, dressed, began cooking. Cooked for three hours. Didn't eat. Cried when no one was around. Listened to the big disk of depression twice. Then I went with Anjelica to talk to the house. Got overly upset about something stupid, making myself feel even more outcasted and alone. Went to mom's. Went home. Ate, and came to work. He still hasn't called. I should feel great because I got Tony Shalhoub's autograph. I don't feel anything. I feel dead. I don't want to feel like this ever again. and I still wish he'd talk to me.