Yesterday was a chill day. I went to get my car serviced – it took three hours – and came back home to eat a hot dog, nap, and quietly cry over life. Yeah, I’ve broken my resolve to not cry already. My mom called to tell me distressing, grandma-related things. Two weeks after my grandma died, my oldest aunt threw away 80% of her belongings and forced me to leave the house. Some of grandma’s friends came to visit and asked if they could have her clothes, which she promised them upon her death. My mom didn’t tell me what the point of the story was because I was all, “So what happened? Did they get anything? Like grandma promised?” And my mom was like, “Oh, uh, I don’t know, that’s all I’ve heard so far.” I was like, “Por qué? Por qué you tell me for, then?”
I was feeling down so I tortured my friend and her boyfriend by making them watch Inglourious Basterds, my favorite film, but also two-and-a-half-hours long. I was nerdy and read the screenplay while watching and, yes, Quentin Tarantino is racist and I should like him a lot less.
My friend’s boyfriend finally left and I still slept on the couch because like… why the fuck would I sleep on that bed?
A STOR¥ BY ? 