All The Things I Did While Waiting For My Ex-Boyfriend To Call Me To Tell Me Something “Really Important”
Went to Burger King. Consumed an entire Whopper Jr., a feat I had until now never been capable of accomplishing.
Actually read my Twitter newsfeed for the first time in like two weeks.
Smoked a cigarette.
Lay in the middle of my living room floor staring at the ceiling.
Wished I had benzos. Looked around for benzos.
Absentmindedly pulled out a bunch of my hair. Thought, “Man, that’s gross.” Wadded up hair and put it on top of a notebook, thinking, “That’s better than the floor.”
Looked at the clock several dozen times. Checked Facebook to see if he had messaged me to changed the time of our phone call. He was supposed to call an hour and 18 minutes ago. Typical.
Looked at people.com. Pop up ad froze my computer. Damn it.
Reopened Hipster Runoff tab with article on James Blake and American dubstep I opened about a week ago but couldn’t finish, still couldn’t finish, navigated back to Tumblr.
Watched half of an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia I have seen three hundred times.
One hour and 33 minutes.
Turned on Jeopardy!
Just learned where the term “scapegoat” comes from.
Ate some Cheetos.
Gchatted a boy I used to like who is gay now. Bleak.
One hour and 51 minutes.
Two hours and six minutes. Granola bar. Apparently I am a stress eater.
Two hours 23 minutes. Have not moved since granola bar.
Received a text message, “Will you bring the scratch tickets.” Responded with non-sequitur, “He hasn’t called yet but I’m blogging about it.”
Okay so technically he was like, “Can I call you tomorrow afternoon,” and I was like, “Yeah after three,” and then he was like, “Okay” so maybe we didn’t necessarily agree on three but 5:29 p.m. isn’t really ‘afternoon’ any more, is it? Was going to say, “I should be more charitable, he’s seven time zones away, maybe he doesn’t realize what time it is here,” and then I realized it’s 12:35 a.m. there, what the f-ck is he doing.
Opened Word. Found a horrifyingly embarrassing blog draft that I must have written drunk. Saw the word “fingered” and minimized it instantly.
Three hours. Shoot me.
Okay that’s a lie, it’s only been two hours and 44 minutes but I want to hurry up and get to that milestone because gay chat buddy says six p.m. is officially ‘evening’ and not ‘afternoon’ and I want to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling until then.
BRB, laying on the floor staring at the ceiling.