An eventful Sunday

A Story by emily

Woke up at four this morning to the dog violently barking at something. Something invisible. I think she sees dead people.

Tried my best to fall back asleep. Failed. Became very aware of how starving I was. Also became aware of how lazy I can be. Instead of getting up, listened to depressing Regina Spektor songs until I actually felt the urge to just let myself starve to death. This lasted for twenty minutes.

Ignored several texts from my friends - because they just weren't the one I wanted to hear from...

Shortly after showering, was CONVINCED I had gotten a text from the one I wanted to hear from. Did the happy girl dance.

Found out I had misread the screen - it was showing a text I had sent THEM.

Went back to bed. Sulked.

Planned out my life, mostly out of spite for all the people who don't like/believe in me.

Got up. Called guy friend to get his opinion. He called me passive aggressive. Although that MAY be true, I didnt feel like that particular Emily rant sounded particularly passive aggressive. I tested this theory - I asked to please define what exactly he thought passive aggressive meant. "Uhh.. well... it means... that... uhhhhhh...."
Hehe.

Took dog for walk. Met hot guy down the street. Hot SHIRTLESS guy. Found out his name was Tom.

Got home. Created a plan to get Tom's number. Decided to go just go ask him for it. But alas. He and his abs were long gone :(

Later in my room, discovered a rather large spider type creature on my nightstand. I was disturbed by this. I used the Emily vs. Bug coping strategy - I went downstairs and watched tv, and hoped it would be gone by the time I forgot about it.

I didn’t forget about it. Twenty minutes later, I marched upstairs, only to be haunted by the thought of the bug leaping onto my exposed skin. I dashed back downstairs, and created a suit of armor - complete with a large sweatshirt (fastened in a Kenny from Southpark sort of way), oversized sunglasses, and a rubber spatula... just in case.

I dramatically returned to my layer, my trusty bug-squisher in hand. I raised the spatula above the bug, and prepared myself...
I couldn’t do it.

I glumly went downstairs and picked up a Tupperware container. As I tried to trap the bug, I decided that I would name her Donna.

It turns out, Donna can FLY. I decided to coexist with Donna.