I keep accidentally staring at strangers around me. This is especially problematic in public places where I am consequently seated directly across from other individuals, such as the library ITC. I’ll be plopped down at a computer, begrudgingly beginning my overdue homework, when I involuntarily stop paying attention and my eyes shift their gaze elsewhere; that ‘elsewhere’ being my unsuspecting neighbor’s eyes. I quickly divert my eye contact and try not to make it obvious. I focus back onto my computer. Seconds later, I become bored again, and the next thing I know, I’m eye-fucking the shit out of that same stranger sitting to my right, your left. This happens over and over until I feel like I should relocate. I need those patches that horses wear to keep them from being distracted.
I habitually pretend not to see people that I know in public places. It’s not like I see them from across the room and then avoid them from afar; I’ll be sitting literally four feet from them, establish eye contact, and then deliberately look away.
More than once.
This happens in stores, class, computer labs, the library, the sidewalk, restaurants, bars–the places are endless, really. I just don’t have the time or patience to talk to people that I don’t regularly drink with. Sorry.
Today while Cassie and I were strolling from the greatest class on earth to Mike’s home, we stopped at the corner of an intersection to assess if it was safe to cross or not. To our left was a red Honda, also waiting for an opening in the traffic to continue on. There was oncoming traffic in the perpendicular direction, so Cassie and I proceeded to cross the street. At the same time, Ray Charles in the red car steps on the gas. I squeal. Cassie jumps, and then slaps the hood of the car. Just palms it. The stupid ass driver, who was chatting away on her cell phone, looks at us aghast as if we were in the wrong. We yelled “what the fuck” and continued to cross the street.
People need to stop writing notes about their agony and unrequited love. People don’t want to read about that. They want to read about what color your vomit was on Friday night, or who you met in jail after being incarcerated for a public intox; not about how depressed you’ve been since your girlfriend of three weeks broke up with you. If we wanted to see that, we’d turn on the Spanish Soap channel. That way, we get the gist of what’s going on, but don’t actually have to listen to what the whiney bitches are saying. Get a diary.
And a tampon.
To reach the parking lot or to go to the laundry facility which are located on the ground floor of my apartment building, I have to go down two flights of stairs. For some reason, I never remember the first flight of stairs on my return. It’s like I black out. I frequently end up climbing an extra flight and finding myself on the wrong floor. How does this happen? I drink a lot.
Well, I found out moments ago that I have an exam on Thursday for one of my classes. I had no idea. Therefore, I need to start preparing for it.
“So how do you say ‘wolf vomit’ in sign language?”