𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝟑𝟖] 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐞

I groan loudly as I push the door to my place open, literally chucking my suitcase inside. Saying that I'm desperate to get any kind of sleep is an understatement at this point.

Instead of flying back out here, Sam and I-- especially Sam-- decided it would be best that we drive so we don't waste so much money on tickets. Honestly, it was hysterical because the only money we were going to be spending was mine. But he insisted-- meaning I had no choice.

If I'd said no, he would have either found a civil way to convince me or drag me by my literal ass to get me in the car.

To say that the drive was amazing and we had an unbelievably romantic/fun trip would be the very definition of a fucking lie.

First of all, sleeping in the car is far from ideal. I usually don't have a problem sleeping while sitting up but there was something completely unnatural about sleeping in a car. Or any moving vehicle for that matter.

Second of all, I heard and saw Sam do things that I forgot normal people do. This asshole farted multiple times and blamed it on the rental's windshield wipers, burped in my face more times than I can recall-- multiple times when I was asleep. And he was eating those fucking gross gas station peanuts. So not only did the car smell of literal ass, but I was this close to re-evaluating our entire relationship. This close to driving him to a mental hospital without consent and leaving him on the sidewalk to fend for himself because I think it's my place to make him get help for something that didn't concern him. I mean me. That doesn't concern me.

Why does that situation sound so familiar?

I FUCKING WONDER, SAMUEL.

Speaking of that odious entity, he didn't cancel his classes for the day we got home, which is today. So he's stuck in a lecture while I'm stuck by myself all day.

I'm kind of feeling a mental health day but I also don't feel like leaving the house. The plan was to crash as soon as I got home but I don't feel like being unproductive.

There isn't really a specific thing I do on "self-care days." I don't really do anything for me, but during these days, I like cleaning my space. Clean space, happy Grace.

Aww, that rhymeddd.

Anyway, I just do shit that makes me feel normal, like my mind isn't absolutely fucked half the time. Plus, I've been feeling really anxious lately so instead of wallowing in my self-pity, I'll clean. That's something semi-healthy people do, right?

I grab my phone out of my pocket and put it on "Do Not Disturb." Kicking off my shoes, I nudge them into a little corner by my door.

My entire house was fucked up-- extremely dirty. And seeing as both my roommates moved out and it's just me, it's time that I clean this shit up. It isn't like it's filthy in here, but I could just tell by the stuffiness.