Today, I came back to Pensacola.
Although exhausted and bushy-haired, I was content and happy to know where I was. My friends were home, the sun was beating, and I get to go shopping comfortably.
The day went along well, until it all just sank in: I’m leaving soon, I have to clean and do my laundry, it’s hard to get everyone together, my car is on the brink of kaputt, and the number one issue is my apartment rent.
Rarely do I divulge in what I really am going through in life. I’d rather go on forever stating that Michelle Williams and Reese Witherspoon are my fashion icons. I’d rather admit that than say, “Oh, I am very nervous, and each time I get an e-mail, I get anxious.”
Anxiety is a big thing to me. I am anxious about everything, and I worry about everything. My own father asked me why I denied needing new glasses, and I cried because he called me out on it: I didn’t want to be a burden. If I cry in an eye glasses store in the middle of a mall, obviously I have no emotional boundaries. I’m all touchy-feely, 24/7.
So, I get anxious about my whole landlord thing because rent is late, and rent never gets to her. If you know me, you know I strongly dislike complications and I even more stronly dislike being in trouble. In any other circumstance, late rent would not be associated with an Ali, except here, wrong addresses and slow mail couriers have gotten the best of everyone. Dear Mrs. Cortolillo, I am so sorry this has come about as it has: I am a good person, I am not like this normally, I would rather walk to your house each month and give you rent than ever be late again.
The whole ordeals I have gone through would have driven any normal person over the edge. I don’t want to be driven over any edge, though: I’m nice, I like people, and I like people to like me also. Too bad life isn’t easy, but I try. Everytime I mess up, it’s a blaring example everyday after, believe me.
Once, I mentioned to Mrs. Brooks that we should do “Miss Siagon” at school, and all I remember now is deep regret and embarassment over her reaction or my statements. I can’t get over that.
I think Krista is here. I need other humans. Goodbye.