Believe it or not, I’ve done a little bit of growing up since I left my parents’ house 9 months ago… I’m not talking about my moral compass, of course; it sailed, along with my virginity, years ago (leaving a goodbye note promising me I’ll see them both again when I’m old and boring). I’m referring another kind of growing up, an underrated kind: The Stop being such a little bitch kind.
I miss my family, friends, dog and bed. I worry about not getting the grade, I let myself be disappointed by guys constantly and my period hasn’t been regular for a year now. Meanwhile, a friend of mine is going through the death of a family member due to cancer and my parents’ phone calls have been, more than once, reduced to “Guess how many people have died tragically as a result of the drug dealing war here in Mexico?”; I’m pretty sure people in Japan and Syria aren’t having a blast either.
I said it once; I’ve no problem in saying it again: I have no real problems. Neither most of you, face it.
I’m not against bitching, believe me, I’m a great bitching partner…
Did you just spent a sleepless week studying and you still failed the test?
Let’s swear our brains out while we plan to chew that teacher’s balls off.
Your clothes look terrible because of the half of pound you gained?
Cry as hard as you can, I bet it burns lots of calories.
Did that beautiful cock teaser just say she loves you like a brother?
I say there’s not better excuse to drink until you puke… And then drink again.
However, if you are going to
act like believe it’s the end of the world, you will have to excuse me while I roll my eyes; life is too short for me to pretend I care. It does hurt like a bitch but no matter how hot she is or how sweet he was, we are lucky if boy/girl crap is the biggest of our troubles.
The way I see it, in every bad situation (once you’re over the initial shock), you have two choices:
a) Stop bitching and get yourself out of it.
b) Keep letting it mess up with your head and stop bitching, since you apparently enjoy it.
Now that I have half convince you, I won’t look so pathetic when I explain you why am I spending the rest of my Spring Break with my grandparents: I refuse to keep bitching about the same things over and over again.
I mentioned, on January, how disgusting my brother’s apartment was. Ok, it turns out… I didn’t know shit about disgusting; no one knows about disgusting until you find yourself taking a probably useless shower in a tub with dead bugs, pubic hair and some spots I will pretend I never saw.
Blame my parents for raising, both, an uptight bitch and a repulsive pig.
Not even The Roommate’s sweet ass is going to keep me here.