I walk myself home from the golf course, basically trusting google maps with my life. I'm covered in grass residue, smell like dirt and have mascara stained on my face. And to top things off? The clouds decided to piss out rain. Let's just say, it's like 7pm by the time I find myself home.
My house is still taped up. I sigh as I duck under it, grabbing the house key from under the gnome in the front yard, and then I turn it into the keyhole.
"Home Sweet fucking home" I groan as i step foot into my house, closing the door behind me. It feels weird as fuck in here.
Alise is gone. Jeremy's gone. And John is gone. It's just me.
I depressingly wander upstairs to my room and throw my filthy, smelly clothes off and change into my favourite onesie:
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I collapse onto my bed, the waterworks returning. Why can't I keep a boyfriend for more than twenty four fucking hours! I thought me and Chris had something special...
I sob into my pillow, grieving the loss of Christopher Sturniolo. He's not dead, but he's dead to me. I then play my depression playlist:
Now Playing: celine dion - my heart will go on 0:01 ❍─────── 4:28 ↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺ Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%
Titanic is my comfort movie. So I need this right now. I sob more into my cotton pillow, mascara pouring into its polyester... I feel so... broken.
sHE's brOKen.
"Near... far... wherever you are...." I sing, sobbing harder than I've ever sobbed. I roll up into a ball like a croissant, howling with pain. Fuck you Chris. FUCK YOU. I also have to mention, I really appreciate the rain adding to the effect right now.
Guess what girls and gays? I'm in my reputation era. FUCK. MEN. I don't need a MAN. I'm too good for these stupid ass white boys. I'm D.O.N.E. Mark my fucking words! I, Yollison Hyacinth Goldson am DONE with boys.
"FUCK MEN!!!" I scream into my pillow before wiping my tears away. I'm not ACTUALLY crying over a motherfuckin dusty musty white boy right now am I?
I sit up, but then immediately fall backwards into my bed and stare at my ceiling, "I'm going to stay single for the rest of my fucking life!". Yes, I talk to myself, what gives? We all do it.
There's this sudden sense of female empowerment I'm getting. Holy shit. I've got the house to myself so like... time to put on my own version of the reputation stadium tour... after I eat a whole tub of ice cream though, I want to have a tv show like break up, come on now. Don't rob me from that experience.
I'm about to excitedly rush out my door and down the stairs when I hear a tap on my window, and well I practically SHIT myself. Oh my god. This is it. I've been broken up with and now I'm about to be skinned alive in my own bedroom. I turn around and peep through my doorway to see what or who is at the window.
