the pity party gets crashed
The continuing drama of EmoQueen, from the post below.
I was at work last night, about an hour and a half from close and getting really excited to go home when I got a text from my flatmate. It was so pathetic my entire going-home buzz was utterly killed; I was ready to stick around and get ahead on some paperwork or something.
In its glorious entirety: Im having a breakdown. Prepare urself for tears and blubbering, Ive already had 3 shots.
Well, great. I didn't even want to go home after getting that. I mean, I've just spent half my day in class and the other half at work and now I get to deal with her drama at home? When I just want to skulk about in my bedroom and ignore my piles of work?
If this were anyone else, I would be concerned. But no, this is par for the course and I'm having a difficult time getting it up for her drama any longer. We are your FLATMATES, not your personal, 24/7 on-call therapists or agony aunts. There's only so many breakdowns you get to have in a month before my sympathy runs dry. And taking shots on a Monday night by yourself? Classy. That sure fixes problems.
I half-snuck into my room and hoped she wouldn't come looking for me. Around half ten, about three quarters of an hour after I got home, she knocked on my door. I refused to answer it. I was in bed reading something for a class and I knew exactly who it was and what she wanted, so I said nothing.
So she walked right in, crashed herself onto my bed and started wailing.
I started in on her. I nearly chucked my textbook at her, I was so furious. Probably not the nicest thing when she was already in tears (for whatever reason, I never heard that) but I was having a fit, informing her that my not answering the door meant two things, that I was not there or was not in a position or mood to be sociable and that neither of these possibilities entitled her to walk in whensoever she pleased. This is a big deal because my bedroom door doesn't close properly and therefore can't be locked and I have to trust my flatmates to respect my privacy. Anyway, I pitched something of a tantrum and tossed her out.
She's not really speaking to me anymore, which is hardly a burden. She was already kicking a fuss about my plans to go out for my birthday (in TWO WEEKS) because it involves bars and clubs she can't get into, as she's under 21. She wanted me to have my birthday at home and was starting to get snitty about it all. Maybe now she won't want to come to the dinner portion of the night; it certainly won't ruin my night if she stays home to sulk about us being so mean as to want to do something fun.
Another minor annoyance: she sells me around to people as her 'Irish roomie!' like I don't have a name and (badly) attempts to fake my accent. It's a little frustrating and obnoxious. She also keeps talking about coming to stay with me when I go home, not that she's even received the merest hint of an invitation. Hopefully, my having a go at her last night has put that thought out of her head.
I was at work last night, about an hour and a half from close and getting really excited to go home when I got a text from my flatmate. It was so pathetic my entire going-home buzz was utterly killed; I was ready to stick around and get ahead on some paperwork or something.
In its glorious entirety: Im having a breakdown. Prepare urself for tears and blubbering, Ive already had 3 shots.
Well, great. I didn't even want to go home after getting that. I mean, I've just spent half my day in class and the other half at work and now I get to deal with her drama at home? When I just want to skulk about in my bedroom and ignore my piles of work?
If this were anyone else, I would be concerned. But no, this is par for the course and I'm having a difficult time getting it up for her drama any longer. We are your FLATMATES, not your personal, 24/7 on-call therapists or agony aunts. There's only so many breakdowns you get to have in a month before my sympathy runs dry. And taking shots on a Monday night by yourself? Classy. That sure fixes problems.
I half-snuck into my room and hoped she wouldn't come looking for me. Around half ten, about three quarters of an hour after I got home, she knocked on my door. I refused to answer it. I was in bed reading something for a class and I knew exactly who it was and what she wanted, so I said nothing.
So she walked right in, crashed herself onto my bed and started wailing.
I started in on her. I nearly chucked my textbook at her, I was so furious. Probably not the nicest thing when she was already in tears (for whatever reason, I never heard that) but I was having a fit, informing her that my not answering the door meant two things, that I was not there or was not in a position or mood to be sociable and that neither of these possibilities entitled her to walk in whensoever she pleased. This is a big deal because my bedroom door doesn't close properly and therefore can't be locked and I have to trust my flatmates to respect my privacy. Anyway, I pitched something of a tantrum and tossed her out.
She's not really speaking to me anymore, which is hardly a burden. She was already kicking a fuss about my plans to go out for my birthday (in TWO WEEKS) because it involves bars and clubs she can't get into, as she's under 21. She wanted me to have my birthday at home and was starting to get snitty about it all. Maybe now she won't want to come to the dinner portion of the night; it certainly won't ruin my night if she stays home to sulk about us being so mean as to want to do something fun.
Another minor annoyance: she sells me around to people as her 'Irish roomie!' like I don't have a name and (badly) attempts to fake my accent. It's a little frustrating and obnoxious. She also keeps talking about coming to stay with me when I go home, not that she's even received the merest hint of an invitation. Hopefully, my having a go at her last night has put that thought out of her head.