10:47 pm at the moment and I kinda feel weird.
Not bad or sad or anything, but just weird. I think I have too many things to care about, when it’s actually not that complicated, but I’m scared and I think too much and I don’t know what’s going on and why the fuck am I being such a killjoy. There’s not a reason in the world, why I have to act like this. But yet, I do. I don’t want to talk to anyone, because I don’t know what to say myself and even if I do, the people around me honestly don’t care. And why should they? I don’t want everyone to get me wrong, I know you guys generally care and I appreciate that, but that’s not really my point. Only I care about something that only I can partially understand. And it’s been clouding over my mind for a few days now, but I can’t figure out what it is. But it gets me edgy and frustrated and it’s not PMS.
You know how I like cats, right? I know some people despise them, they think they’re mean and arrogant and they think you’re their servant and they want to own your soul and they’re evil creatures, but I just think they’re cute and fluffy and I’ll always want to have one cat at home. In moments like these, I’d just stroke it and lay in my bed, instead of writing in my blog for no apparent reason. And I’d hear it purr and it would calm me down immediately. I love cats. Just as much as I love Nuutti (I love him, too, even though he’s a dog). Anyway, I like cats, but I don’t want to die surrounded by them. And most people are joking about it (myself included). My mom has the weird ability to make things worse by trying to calm me down, so when I told her that I wish I had a boyfriend, with whom I’d do exactly the same things I do now, she said I’m a “prokletiya” and it shows so much. Prokletiya would be…a woman, who’s bad and spite, too evil and with difficult personality. I know she didn’t mean it for real, but still… what… the… fuck… ? And the guys around me are SO BAD. Seriously, it’s not my standards. If they go any lower, I’d go out with a goat. The people here are not particularly smart or understand my character that well and let’s admit it – I’m not looking for anyone. Nor will I do so soon. I’m not going out with guys and I’m not meeting new people. Why? Cause I couldn’t care less. Sorry, but it’s true. I don’t give the slightest fuck about who’s lurking around the corner or the fish in the sea. I’ve never been lovesick or had a broken heart or whatever scientists call the sorrow for those types of things. Of course, I’ve had bad days, but nothing really serious that could “shake my world” and I’m happy like that. No one needs to feel bad just to gain “experience” for life. I’m a sensitive person and I attach quickly to some people, I don’t need to be screwed over because of hormones. I’m not on that level of self-acceptance yet, where I can be ready for someone else to accept me as well. I’m arrogant and bitchy, bossy, loud and I have flaws that I need to work on, because of myself. And I’m sick and tired of every single friend I have, telling me stories about their boyfriends of 3 fucking years, when I can’t even find a guy I can be remotely interested in. And though I wasn’t worried some time ago, the years are running and now everyone is telling me how much fun their other half is and in some time, they’re gonna start getting married, while I’ll still awkwardly sit around by myself, being the third wheel like I’ve always been. And also, all of my girl-friends have said “yeah, I’m never finding a boyfriend, we’ll die alone together”…what a load of horse shit. NO BITCH, you have a boyfriend, who cares about you. What do I have? A creepy wall in my room full of pictures of my friends, which also by the way, have someone they care about. Fucking awesome. And don’t you ever, ever, ever come to me with the friend-zoning crap, because I’m never the one to friendzone first. Not girls, not boys, not cats, not anyone. And I know it’s my fault for most of the shit I do, or more precisely not do, but I’m really not desperate. I’m just sick of people around me being so happy and I’m just writing this crap in my blog… Yeaaaaaaah.
The day, when I find a boyfriend, will be the day I change my name. Since it’s obviously never going to happen.
//Stef – but at least I have facebook and music. 🙂