I forgot to tell you all this but I am officially moving! It took months and months to convince my mother that I will be moving to another city again, but this time not so far away from her. She finally agreed but not without a million rules. I have to be home any time we have family over, as well as all weekends. That’s no bad, as I will be going from listening to her snoring 7 days a week to only two days a week. I have everything packed and will be moving on Saturday. I plan on sleeping the first two weeks, and then getting my fat ass into shape the rest of the time. As of now my weight has sky rocketed, but hey whos weighing? Not me that’s for sure!
He messaged. The fucking bastard whom promised me marriage, and a carriage, messaged me. A simple ‘HEY, call me. I need to talk to you’. As if nothing had happened. As if he never lied to me and broke my heart, as if us being together never happened, as if I never went and googled rings, wedding dresses, wedding cakes, and summer colours. He messaged, like what we had didn’t exist, as if he never cheated on me, and we were two strangers inquiring about the health of the other. He messaged, as if I never told my mother that she should expect a certain someone sending a proposal. He also messaged not from one number, but two different numbers, because I ignored his messages. The second one I mistook for a cousin, and I was obligated to reply.
I believe in ignoring people. Nothing drives a human more insane, then being forgotten or ignored. And I wanted to do that, but my fucking cousin whom I am close with keeps changing his number and therefore instead of making him feel forgotten, I hurled my anger at him and made him feel like he still mattered (I think so anyways).
“FUCK OFF. JUST FUCK OFF AND FUCKING DIE YOU PIECE OF SHIT AND STOP FUCKING MESSAGING ME. STOP TALKING TO ME. GO DIE AND LET ME BE!”
“Are you serious?”
What do you say to a fucking arrogant piece of shit who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. You tell him to FUCK OFF and block his number for the umpteenth time.
Some people wonder if God exists, if there are other planets, or if there are aliens. All I wonder about is where love goes? Where does it end up, how does it disappear, and when does it disappear? Is it on Mars? Or somewhere up in heaven hanging out with the dead, or is it partying with aliens on Pluto. Where does love go? The love between mother and daughter, father and son, husband and wife? Where does it go?
My guess? Probably poppin’ champagne bottels with Hate at some swanky club.
Last week I got two proposals. One on Tuesday, and the other on Friday. One was a hand down, from my cousin. She called me to explain that a guy had come for her hand, and she wasn’t interested, but because he was such a good catch she thought I should have him. Now my cousin isn’t the type of person to do anything from the kindness of her heart. She was sending me her second hand in the hopes that I would agree to meeting him, just so she can sit at my wedding (hypothetically) and say with a smirk that he had come for her hand first. The second guy on Friday was a tax driver. A friend of a friend, whom had seen my pictures and fallen in love. He was described to me as tall, dark, and handsome. What I saw was hairy, big nose, and bald. But that’s besides the point. I was told by my mother I should be lucky that not ONE but TWO guys had shown their interest in me. Because at 26, I am expired and apparently so are my eggs.