"I pegged you for an English major."
Yeah well. Go peg a fence or some shit, people. Whatever one is actually supposed to peg. Dart boards? Not me. I would rather stick needles in my eyes than major in English.
I wrapped up this conversation by neglecting to mention that I'd just gotten back from the east coast, the one noteworthy thing I've done thus far. Sigh.
Speaking of that, the culture shock of returning to California combined with the reuniting with my dysfunctional/whitetrash roots contributes to my crying 22 to 23 hours a day. The California font, use of bears on the flags and in state fair advertising, and porn star governor candidates is beginning to disgust even me now.
And I may be lonely but I don't want to talk to people in airports, or on planes, okay?
"Hey you from Boston?!"
"Hey you from Californ-yuh?!"
"You goin to Bozeman, Montana?!"
"Where you headed?!"
"You from Sacramento!? I'm headed there on vacation!"
SHUT UP. SHUT. UP. Shutupshutupshutupshutup. I'm too busy trying not to vomit all over you, myself, and my SKY magazine while the "California here I come, right back where I started from/Open up that golden gate, I can hardly wait" theme song reels through my head mercilessly to tell you intimate details about my travels. And don't look out the fuckin window nonstop if you're not sitting next to it. I'm sitting next to it. Your face pointed at mine for six hours doesn't aid in the fight to not vomit.
An eighth year at junior college begins tomorrow. In honour of that, I will attempt to sleep instead of cry.