I am mad at myself.

Absolutely fucking raging at myself. I am a mug. Pure fucking mug. I have thrown 300% at a man. What has he given? 10% max. FOR. A. YEAR. But I still give.

Yes, two or three times I have deleted his number and deleted the text thread and said that's it but it all finds it's way back. At the moment his number just isn't saved and I have convinced myself that is feminism?

I check in with him at least once a week and sometimes he gratifies me with a reply and sometimes he just keeps playing Fortnite and I have to look up break up playlists on youtube. (#PillsNPotions). OH BUT HE IS SO MUCH KINDER THAN ANY OF THE OTHERS SO I MUST KEEP TRYING?!?! He is a douche but within a week max I will have backtracked no doubt. And yes, he is the no pudding guy from months ago. I WANTED A FUCKING CHEESECAKE. OR AT THE VERY LEAST A FUCKING TEXT BACK.

*** To clarify; I am not a complete moron - if you saw him with me you would think he adored me. He stutters. He stares as I walk away (so my trusted friends tell me). He is awkward beyond belief. But clearly too fucking awkward. What I convinced myself was love was apparently just plain old social anxiety. Story of my life.

You know what is bullshit?

Lean in close, little ones; I will tell you what is bullshit.

From a very early age I wanted to be an Egpytologist. I knew from about 7 that this was my destiny. I was put on this Earth to find Imoteph's* tomb, or so I believed. When I got older I realised that I wasn't being drawn to ancient Egypt by anything special; it was an incredibly interesting culture that most people are drawn in to. So I thought: fuck it. Do a degree in something vague that will be broadly useful as opposed to something specific that you can't use in the future. One journalism degree and a few years in a dead end job later and I'm thinking 'fuck it all, get a masters in Egyptology and live your life grrrl; what is there to lose?'. Well, fucking everything as since I didn't do a degree in history it looks like I won't be getting my dream masters.

A fluke choice at 18 and my dream got fucked up the ass. BULL.SHIT. At 18 I didn't know how much I could even drink, let alone what would have half a chance at making me happy FOR THE REST OF MY FUCKING LIFE. Fucking UCAS choices. You should take them at 30 when you have some idea of what gives you long term satisfaction.


*SHOUT OUT TO THE WORLD'S FIRST GENIUS; I STILL HEAR YA DUDE.

 

 

 

 

*UPDATE FROM 2018*

 

Hahahahahaha Now I've got a masters, with a great dissertation score. Hellooooooo, job market, AMIRITE?! No. no you're not 'rite', because *now* a fucking forklift license would help me secure a job. Oh, those elitists, always shifting the goalposts.