This week was dedicated to being an unproductive human. I woke up, went to school, and went home. On Saturday I went to ballet class, then to the city, then home. On Sunday, I stayed home and burned a CD for a project after watching Heathers twice in a row. It was as routine as forcing down a set of pills.
I hate being the type of person that people tell to smile, or that they try to avoid. I always find some way to make everything awkward. “You have the social skills of a rotting corpse,” said a classmate earlier this week. That isn’t necessarily false; around my friends, I’m fine, but if I’m talking to someone I don’t know, I am visibly uncomfortable: I wring my hands a lot, I sigh, I clear my throat and try to force a smile.
Why can’t I just be? Why do I have to question everything and everyone? I’m sick of being sad and boring. I want to stop worrying about everything, or hating everything, or overindulging in everything. I want to stop bouncing between being a total hermit and pleasing everyone around me, and instead just live my life for me. ♦