Dear whoever,

5

JULY 24

Dear whoever,

Today I've got nothing better to do then write in this thing. Okay, I do have better things I could be doing. Like reading a book, or vacuuming my bedroom floor, or completing that word search that's been half finished for weeks now. But everytime I try and keep myself occupied by doing little things around the house my thoughts manage to wander off to places so dark a fire couldn't brighten them. I'm upset with myself. I'm also upset at Boss, but I can't keep blaming other people for my mistakes. It's my fault that I'm sitting on my couch bored out of my mind on a late Wednesday morning, when I should be at work. 

Today I feel: useless

useless at my job

useless in my friendship

useless at this life

I combed my fingers through my hair frustratedly. It was growing out longer than it should. The strands tickled my forehead and I felt like ripping the strands out with my bare hands. I placed the journal in between 'What Has Become of You' and 'Rush' on my bookshelf. Quinn would never go through my bookshelf, she knew that each book was a treasure to me. She teased me plenty of times because of my love for literature. When threatening to read out loud in my horrible attempt at a british accent didn't get her off my case, I was forced to tickle her until she said that 'reading was the coolest thing ever'. 

"Why the fuck am I always thinking about her?" I muttered under my breath as I headed to the kitchen. I took out a beer and grabbed the bottle opener that was still lying on the counter nearby where it slept after I had used it about four times last night. The sound of the cap popping off was familiar. I stared down at the drink. The condensation was dripping on the floor and the bottle cooled my fingers. I scowled down at it and turned the bottle upside down in the sink. I watched as the contents went down the drain quickly much like it would if I had drank it. I ignored my urge to throw the now empty bottle across the room. Having broken shards of glass littler my floor wouldn't solve any of my problems. I wasn't seventeen anymore. I had to man up and figure out how I was going to get my shit together before Monday. And there was no way I was going to be able to figure that out, if I was intoxicated. 

With a newfound purpose and determination I walked quickly to my bedroom and into my closet. I changed out of the sweat pants and plain tee that I was sporting most of the morning and into a pair of light wash jeans and a thin grey sweater. I ran a hand through my hair again and grabbed my keys from my night stand. After slipping my feet into my white low top converse I headed for my front door.

I passed the mirror and on the way out. I smiled at my reflection. But it didn't reach my eyes. I sighed and tried again, putting more effort into it. Faint crinkles formed near my eyes and my cheeks began to ache. The man looking back at me was a stranger. The expression looked unnatural on my face. I let the smile fall and continued to my door. 

I lived on the second floor and as I opened my front door, the one across from me opened as well. I didn't bother trying to hide the immediate scowl that appeared on my face as the elderly women emerged from her apartment. Her tiny, fluffy dog followed after her, the leash around it's neck stopping it from going down the stairs. The dog immediately began to bark at me, it's high pitched yelps making me flinch in annoyance. 

"Hush Pinkie." Louise reprimanded her oh so threatening Shih Tzu. The pink, sparkly collar around it's neck made it look very menacing. She looked up at me with her big brown eyes, her thick rimmed glasses doing nothing to hide the disdain in them. "The job finally fired you huh?" She asked while giving me a once over.