Numbers.

I've been thinking about numbers quite a bit today.
Mostly the numbers of the last couple months.
I have been homeless for eight months. 
I've lived in nine places in the past eight months. 
(Soon to be more. Apartment shopping on Tuesday.)
In four months, I will be eighteen.
I need $800 for a trip in April, which I'm not going to be able to go on.


I've been single for four months.
(It's been a good four months.)
You have been in it again for about four.
I wrote fifty-four things that I love about you on a deck of cards.
It was originally a list of roughly one hundred. 
Every single one is 100% true.
In the past two months, I have seen you four times.
We have had ten dates.
You have shown up to two.
The first two.
Two months ago.
I have dyed my hair twice.
Since we have hung out, I've dyed my hair twice.
I have seen you for an accumulative five minutes over the past two months.
Both of those times being during school in the past two weeks.
I am worth 2.5 minutes per month?
Thanks.


Anyway.
I feel good.
Confidence is flowing throughout ever part of my body.
Because I'm an independent single bitch.
Why am I sitting around?
It doesn't make any sense to me. 
Heinhold has reminded me time and time again.
"If you don't respect yourself, why should any one else?"


And the truth is, you don't.
If you blow me off on Wednesday, I'm out.
Sorry, 8:2 is an unacceptable ditch:date ratio.
I should be out by now, I've given too many 'last chances.'
It's about time I respect myself.


For the past two months, it's been "what am I doing wrong?"
I hate to say it, but I'm not doing anything wrong.
I may be a bitch some times, but I'm giving 100% and for what?
The ditch:date ratio is true.
I'm 80% of this damn relationship, you're giving me 20% crap.
"It's never enough for you, why is it never enough? Why can't you ever be pleased?"

You haven't given me much to be happy about.
When I'm excited about something, I tell everyone. 
I always get excited about our plans.
I tell people we are going to do something.
Then you blow me off.
Again and again and again and again. 
They hear about it.
Hell, even the Laramie director doesn't like you.
It's about time I start listening to my friends.

I'm clearly in it for your dick anyway.


It's 11:30.
Bitch time over.