I've been away. Or I've been hiding.
I was diagnosed with Lyme disease at 12 years old. Almost a decade later, I still have it. It started getting bad, and that was when I left. Neurological effects spiked; I could barely write a coherent sentence, and my preexisting problem speaking only got worse. I can barely talk at all. Words tumble out of my mouth without making any sense at all. I don't talk to anyone anymore. It's killing me.
Loan money fell through and I had to drop out of all my classes but one or two every semester. This has made a two-year degree into a four-year nightmare of a degree I didn't even want. I originally set out for an associate's in IT. I was booted from the program because a revised quota meant people had to be cut, and with my luck, I was one of them. Now I'm going at a Liberal Arts degree and hating that I have to take a pointless drawing class just so I can get this useless degree.
My job at the capital fell through as well. The IP firm? Yeah, I don't work there anymore. Instead, I work at a grocery store, bagging food with a bunch of teenagers. Egocentric, hormone-driven teenagers who wear too much eye makeup. As bad as they come. Can't forget the people who come through, no, I can't forget the angry mothers and bratty children and guys in their forties who hit on the cashier. It's a pointless job, and the day I realized I hadn't produced a single thought in an hour, I almost resigned. The only thing keeping me in was the knowledge that I had to pay back loans on the degree that I didn't want.
About a month ago, my grandfather died. I don't know if I should be sad about his passing, angry because of the circumstances, or happy because the old b*****d is finally dead. We found out a few days ago via Facebook message, where his sister told us that he'd died of a virus and that his final requests had been followed. He'd already been cremated, a month ago. While there is no surprise in my mind that one of his requests was for his wife's children not to know, it's just messed up that my father couldn't go to his father's funeral.
I hate my life. It's futile, it's a waste of time, it's a pain to deal with, and I can't in good conscience inflict it on anyone else. I doubt anyone really notices I'm gone, but in case you have... This is where I've been.
· Sat Mar 16, 2013 @ 12:05am · 0 Comments