Some people think I'm a bitch and maybe I am, but here's the honest truth: I respond well to people who aren't full of shit. If you're nice, honest, open, decent,considerate, and treat me like an actual person, I'll respond well to you. Maybe we won't be besties. I may not agree with everything you have to say. I may not be interested in the same things. But I'll appreciate you. I'll respect you. I would never insult you.
If you lack any of the qualities listed, I won't like you. More than that, I'll call you out on your shit because I'm not afraid to do so. Because you should know better. Because I'm too damn old to put up with children.
So sorry if I offend your delicate sensibilities, but I'm not really sorry because chances are you deserved every second of it.
Hair's getting longer again. I remember what it felt like to hide my face in my hair. I didn't get to do that with bangs. I'm also remembering the annoyance of having hair whip your face. The heat and the wind here is making the urge to chop it all off difficult to resist. But I do.
Two more interviews tomorrow and the hope of having a job. I don't think I'll be going to one of them, though. Looking over the job, I find myself unqualified and uninterested. I feel like a prick for saying that, though. Jobs are so hard to find and student internships are so easy to suck up to. It's simple to find the right words and pretend all I want in life is to lead and wear black pants suits and become a CEO of WhateverCorp. They're simple little fuckers. I don't aspire to become one.
I spend a lazy day doing next to nothing and drinking a lot of Mountain Dew. It blows.
I got an interview tomorrow, though. Hopefully, I'll have a job soon and I'll have something to do that also gives me money. I don't do well with non-productivity.
Volunteered working a carnival game booth all day. If a single fuck ever says "How much to just buy that prize?" to me again I'm go to shoot something.
I'm in a weird place right now.
I don't know what I was expecting. I don't know what I wanted. But I know that I'm not... satisfied. And I wonder who's fault that is. I think it may be mine...
