I think I should mention for the records that "tfw" means "that feel when" and it's some sort of internet meme? I don't know. It's a tumblr thing, and when tumblr is concerned, there are no real answers (it's kind of like Dada).
The only day worse than Saturday is Sunday, and that's tomorrow. What am I doing with my life? I hate the weekends, like I literally dread them all week. Who even does that? Me, that's who! Wow, I'm great.
See, on weekends, people are supposed to do fun things, go out, party, enjoy life, all that. But for me, the only drinking I do is alone, in my room, trying to drown my sorrows in crappy cheap liquor, and the only social interaction I get is when I have to talk to people at church (and my students, of course). I guess it's a social anxiety thing? I dunno. Like I don't wanna do anything, but then I feel horribly guilty about not doing anything, so I really can't win either way. Anyway, that's not the worst part. No, the worst part is having to deal with my family. On weekends, we're all home together, and it's hell and I hate it, and I want to die. Not that that's unusual, mind you, but it gets worse on weekends. And then on Sunday, we have to teach! I literally loathe it. Detest it. Objectively speaking, I suppose it's not that bad, but for some reason I really hate it, so I just go on hating it, and my wrath increases every day. Soon it will be uncontainable (that's a lie; I need to buy textbooks, so I must contain my fury long enough to get paid). Last night, I woke up a whole bunch of times because I was dreading the weekend so much, so I didn't get much rest, and I'm sure that didn't help anything? But then I slept a lot in the afternoon (not very restful or good sleep, mind you), so I'm not tired, but I'm still miserable, so maybe sleep doesn't have anything to do with it at all. Talia, on the other hand, got a full eight hours, and was wonderfully chipper. It made me happy to see her.
Now I know full well how lucky I am to have a family, especially one with people who don't hit me or snoop through my personal things (usually), and I really have no right to complain, but I will anyway, because complaining is what I live for. So. It's always horribly hot in here because Dad only lets us use the air conditioner when he wants it (which is like never), and I'm sure that doesn't help anyone's mood, so everyone is constantly pissed off and/or sad. Me included, but I don't have the luxury of showing that, so let's discount me for a second. There are bugs everywhere, because people keep leaving the doors open (like, windows have SCREENS, they're meant to be used for cooling purposes, why can't you guys realize this), and I hate bugs :( Like, they're okay outside, but they're not meant to be in the house, and I'd rather keep away from them, you know? They probably thrive in here because it's so horribly dirty. Everyone is a slob except for me (and Xander, but he's not here), and we're all too depressed to clean up, so the house is a literal pigsty (literally- the guinea pigs' cage seems to spread out across the entire house somehow). It's almost to the point that I feel dirtier after taking a shower, because of how nasty the bathroom is. Oh yeah, showers. My family should start taking them. I think Talia and I are the only ones who wash every day, which is, ya know, kind of disgusting. I mentioned that I use a clean towel and washcloth and stuff every day, and it was like a frickin revolutionary statement, I mean everyone was so shocked and horrified, like "Maria that is WAstEfUL" like no, what's wasteful is you throwing away your health because you couldn't be assed to throw your linen in the laundry, this isn't 1736 damn it
UGH
Okay, so also! Dad is really weird, as you know, so he doesn't let us use normal laundry detergent (it was a struggle getting him to let us use laundry detergent At All, but that's neither here nor there), and all out clothes end up smelling like ass, and not even remotely clean. I guess some of us (read: everyone except me and Talia) don't care about the smell or the lingering stains or even the indignity of having to go over everything with a lint roller three times afterwards (which they don't do, by the way), but when I wash my laundry, I mean for it to be clean, you know? I didn't think this was such an unusual concept. Also, we don't have a dryer, so we have to hang out our stuff on the balcony like we're in the goshdarn tenements. Talk about airing out your dirty laundry in public- literally everyone in the neighborhood can see my barely-cleaned thongs flapping merrily in the breeze. When I'm at school, I bask in the glory of a lint filter and dryer sheets and actual detergent, and washing my sheets every week, and living like the terribly privileged one-percent asshole that I am. It's really something, I'll tell ya what. It's also something to be able to eat off dishes that are definitely clean (because of course we're not allowed to use real dish detergent or clean sponges either) (and our dishwasher has been broken for years). SPEAKING OF, I feel like most people don't eat the way we do, like we manage to be both healthy and unhealthy at the same time, and that's a feat right there. I try to cook good meals for the kids, so at least they get something, but the rest of us (me included) eat horribly, and it's bad. I mean, for me, a shitty diet is a given, but the rest of all y'all ain't got no excuse. What can you do? I suppose I should start cooking for everyone else too, but frankly, it's daunting. They're all so picky! I mean, come on guys. Beggars can't be choosers.
Right, so that's the setting. Then we have to layer the Interpersonal Drama on top (which is like something out of a frickin Victor Hugo novel), and the daily minutiae of our daily lives, which is all horribly depressing by the way, and it's a recipe for the Bleak House of the postmodern age. Which is, you know, saying something. I think I would feel personally offended if we never provided the basis for a Gritty and Meaningful masterwork, showcasing the depths of the human condition and standing in as a symbol of the grimness of society. (Come on, isn't that everyone's goal?)
Thus, to put it in the words of one renowned 19th century scholar, "men, women, and children are living in Shit." Oh, this is life, I suppose, and I mustn't complain (outside of here, where I will indeed complain profusely), because I am more privileged than 99% of the world's population, and frankly, I really don't have the right. I expressed as much to my therapist, and she started going on about how the "poor starving children in Mexico" lead the "simple life" and how living hand-to-mouth is actually much easier than living in luxury because those poor people don't have to think about nuanced feelings like Sadness or Anxiety. This was all very problematic, and I had to argue with her for the rest of the session (which wasn't very productive), but sadly, it's all that one could expect. I mean, the woman is white.
What was I saying, though? Ah yes. So, it's very bad of me to complain, and believe me, the guilt is eating away at me as we speak. But that's okay! We all need to feel guilty about something! (That's so far from being true, ignore me) And I know that oppression and pain aren't competitive sports, and someone else's suffering doesn't negate mine, but it's hard to feel that my problems are legitimate when I have a roof over my head and enough food to eat (that I don't eat, but it's the thought that counts) and own an iPhone and go to one of the best universities in the country. There are people who would kill to be in my position, and I'm squandering it by wallowing in my own Feelings. That's another reason to hate me, and actually, now that I think of it, it's another reason that I could be a Brooding Postmodern Antihero. Oh gosh, I don't like where my future is going. Before I know it, I'm going to be living in sin in a dingy apartment in New York City, punching random people in the face, or maybe killing men on the beach and having to go to jail because I was wholly unrepentant about it. And I won't even have the male privilege to get away with it! Oh dear, oh dear. What a sad turn my life has taken. At least, I can win some aspiring novelist a Pulitzer when he decides to write about me.
Man, ya know what I wish? I wish I weren't so damn ugly. Like, I'm pretty sure a lot of people wish that, and to be honest with you, I'm closer to Esmeralda than Quasimodo in the grand scheme of things, so my complaints might seem a little silly, but trust me, they are heartfelt. I'm never going to be thin enough (which, granted, might be an eating disorder thing, but STILL), and my smile is hideous, and my hair is thin, and I have horrible bags under my eyes that never go away, and my eyebrows are so THIN what the heckie, man how does that even happen? Also, I think my boobs are shrinking? Which is totally not fair, I mean they were two of the only things I had going for me. And yet, people won't stop hitting on me! So, looking at things objectively, it really seems that we've arrived at quite a Critical Situation, and I can see no way out but to join a nunnery, and that's something that I definitely don't want to do, because I've seen that opera about the Carmelite nuns and I know how it ends, okay, I Know How It Ends. All in all, I'm a little dissatisfied. What can you do, though? I have a body that works, and that's what's important.
I should go to sleep, but I don't want to, because once I do, it'll be Sunday, Bloody Sunday, and that's the worst bloody day of the week. If I were ever to find out that I was a princess and needed to go off to a small European principality ASAP to give a rousing speech about identity and multiculturalism, I think now would be a good time for it. Naturally, I wouldn't stay there, but the event would take long enough that I wouldn't have to teach. Oh yes, and they would pay me (or give me access to the royal treasury or something), so I wouldn't have to feel guilty about not working. Oh me, oh my, tomorrow's coming, and I will cry. Let's see if I can manage to get out of bed (if I do, that will be a victory). All right, time to go. Goodnight!
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