Sorry sorry sorry, 1000 apologies. I know I haven't updated for so long but I was sooo soooo busy. University entrance depended upon my constant studying and passing exams. I couldn't even watch television, my ultimate favorite hobby, so there was no way I could get even a little writing in. And I couldn't do anything until now because I had to do stuff with friends. I'm making this one real short so that I can update quick. I promise to make a longer next one. HOPE you enjoy.
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"What are you doing?" Jesse says, staring at me as though I'm a mental health patient trying to escape from the ward.
"What does it look like, Jesse?" I say, eyeing him curiously. I'm standing outside of his dorm, my dancing shoes balancing precariously on the edge of my hand as I slightly tilt my head to one side.
"You can't go dancing in this state," he says, looking me up and down. I washed my hair just this morning and put on my new Chanel shirt, so he can't be referring to my physical appearance. At least I hope he isn't, what with the way he's eyeing me.
"In this state?" I say, reiterating his words, "Jesse, I'm not dying, you know?" I say, rolling my eyes. Wow, you fall unconscious once and this happens? Paranoid and high-blood pressured Jesse constantly feels the need to monitor me.
"I'm going to go alone if you're not coming," I state firmly, turning my head around and beginning my journey to the elevator. Jesse, finally giving up, closes his dorm door and follows me down the hall.
"But if you feel at all ill we're heading back, ok?" he says, looking me straight in the eye as we reach the elevator doors, a look that makes me feel all jittery inside.
"K," I reply in my Jesse personalized high-pitched voice. I fake a smile.
Jesse gives me a very stern look.
The elevator doors open and we carefully step across the threshold separating the hall from the elevator floor.
The doors of the elevator close.
I lay my head on the wall, closing my eyes as the elevator hums its incessant tune.
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I've gotten worse. At dance, that is. Yep. It's remarkable, I know. Boris is very upset with me. I never will reach live, squirming tuna, will I? Forever I shall dance like the highly talked about dead tuna.
Dead tuna and I are incredibly similar souls, if you think about it. Neither of can dance, we're both dead---me socially, the tuna, well, literally---and neither one of us will ever receive a second, much less a first, glace from a semi-cute, ok, maybe even just a decent-he'll-do-no-I-am-not-thirty-years-older-than-you guy.
Take this as an example: after dance class, after Jesse dropped me off at the mall---where I told him to drop me off 'cause I promised to meet up with a friend (not really, I just needed to buy some new pants, but I wasn't going to tell him that), this being met with fierce resistance from Jesse's side: "You're still weak!"--- a fifty-year-old man came up to me and asked me for my number. I stared at him in this horrified sort of way, my look screaming 'pedophile!' Afterwards, I just sort of walked off, smiling in this creepy sort of way.
Sheesh, I'm not asking for much. Just let him be at least ten years closer to my age (preferably older) and not sex-deprived.
I'm not even asking for good-looking. Really, to qualify for a career as my boyfriend you must:
a. Not be a murderer
b. Not be fifty years old
c. Be breathing
d. Be of average intelligence
e. Have an inkling of a personality
f. Optional: Be attracted to women
That's all. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently so.
As I'm walking along I can't help but stare at the food court. I'm so hungry. I haven't had anything since breakfast, and now it's almost five o'clock. I've been walking around aimlessly for hours, looking for pants. Everything is either to expensive or won't fit my oversized-and-growing-daily butt.
I know I shouldn't, but slowly, as though I'm hypnotized, I storm off to the ever-inviting food court, my mouth salivating like a dog's.
Gosh, no wonder no guy will have me, I'm a beast.
I order fries with a (cry!) cheeseburger. I eat it in under a minute, that's how hungry I am. The guy sitting across from me is staring at me as though he's never seen anything more beastly. I'm sure that not even the zoo could possibly provide anything more exotic and disturbing than me.
This was definitely not the sort of glancing that I was hoping to get from a guy. Good going Suze, one more point for you.
After I'm done eating, I walk off, throwing away the remains of my burger (the wrapper, only thing I couldn't eat) and walk off to try and find pants that could possibly cover my overflowing rear.
I don't even understand how Jesse can handle me, as annoying as he can be. I must be such a pain, him having to nurse me every second of the day. No wonder he gave me the nutrition sheet listing all the things I must consume in order to give birth to a healthy, much less alive baby. I know that he already recognizes the symptoms of the pig disorder that I have been carrying around since birth. Poor Jesse, he tries to give me nutritional advice and what do I do? I take his advice and throw it away, or I might have crumpled it up and placed (carelessly dropped) it in a really cobweb-infested corner.
And still he gets on my case with my eating habits, which I completely ignore (the sickly worm that I am) every chance he gets.
I just have to face up to the fact that I'll never be able to change, and the lump on my back will continue to grow until it swallows me up.
I enter a store called Three Pregnant Ladies (Oh god! Three!) and their Husbands, looking around for anything that could possibly fit me. Hey, I am technically pregnant, so soon I'll have to start showing, however much I'm not looking forward to that.
And, success, I find pants that fit.
You can never lay aside the pregnancy clothes store, I always say. Well, I'll start saying that from today onwards.
The pants are very airy and flow quite comfortably with my body. I'm very happy to have found them. I feel like the pants and I are developing a bond.
"Ma'am," I hear the store-lady call out to me. I hardly even heard her, what with me welling in a bowl of happiness at my newfound joy.
I turn around to face her, annoyed with her for bringing me out of my euphoria, "ya?" I reply.
"Umm, I am sorry to inform you that you are wearing men's pants," she says, looking quite sympathetic as she stares down at my ensemble.
"Uh, oh," I utter, dumbfounded. It is completely silent for a whole ten seconds. "I guess I'll just change back now," I manage to say, giving out a pathetic little laugh. With a stupor I head off to the changing rooms, the soaring balloon that a few moments ago was lifting up my pants-dream was slowly losing its air, dropping into the never-ending depths of hell right in front of me.
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When I came home I beganmy research for my criminology assignment that Mr. Bright brightly announced on Thursday, to everyone's disappointment. It was going to be due in a month, but I wanted to get an early start on it 'cause it had to be real good. I do needto keep my marks in the nineties,you know,for that stupid contest.
He's making us write an essayabout how criminals are born.Yippee, how fun.
I got as far as the introduction before I went to sleep.
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I'm in the same place, the same dark corridor with fog crowding in on me.
My lungs get filled up with fog and I can't breathe. I'm reaching out, trying to clasp onto something solid in the murky shadows.
The doors on both sides stretching to infinity, the stars above are making me dizzy.
I see something run towards me, something with a piercing yellow gaze. I start to run in the opposite direction; afraid of what will happen when the figure catches me.
The muscles on my legs start to hurt but I don't seem to move. The figure draws nearer. My heart beats faster, fear absorbing every fiber of my being.
I cry out as a dark hole opens up and swallows me.
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A/N: sorry haven't written for so long. Hope you like.