Head over feet

I am so exhausted.

Not from school, but from everything else. Extracurriculars. Friendships. And I guess studying as well (although I haven't done much of that in the past week, but I'm sure I'll be exhausted from that in a couple of days as well when I realize how horrendously behind I am). Ladies and gentlemen, Michelle has reached her breaking point.

I'm just tired of things. Tired of having to be there for someone. Tired of caring about what others think. Tired of watching people with spring fever. Tired of being taken advantage of. Tired of letting people take advantage. Tired of pretending that I'm having a fabulous time. Tired of caring. Tired of pretending not to care. And I'm tired of feeling bad for all of this.

I feel so fake all the time - my voice is just a little too high-pitched and overeager to be honest. I'm overcompensating.

It sounds bad, I know. But I need a time out from everything. From everyone. From my overanalyzing mind.

How did I change so much in just one year? This time, last year, I was having the time of my life. I was so carefree. So uninhibited. So happy.

Maybe I need another summer fling.

I'm just glad it's summer. I'm burnt out.

Miss Halfway

I'm over the boy. It's taken me a while, but it's finally safe to take off the bandaid. Go ahead and rip it off. Nothing about him can possibly hurt me anymore. I'm healed.

Really, I am.

So I reached for my phone and my fingers started dialing that number that I just can't seem to un-memorize. It rang a couple of times, and I wasn't sure if he was screening my call or not, but I was determined to leave a message at the very least. After all, I had ignored all of the emails, text messages, and voicemails that he had sent me during the months following our split. So I knew, it was my turn to be ignored. He had told me he felt guilty about our breakup, and I did absolutely nothing to change how he felt, even though I knew no one was to blame. I could see how I was now the bad person in his book. So if he wanted to ignore my phone calls, that'd be fine. I understood. But at least I could leave him a nice friendly message.

I could be the girl who is still on friendly terms with her ex. If other people can do it, why can't I, right?

So the phone rang. And just as it was about to go to voicemail, he surprisingly picked up, and I could hear all the background noise:

"-- answer it for me! I'll be right out --"
"Uh... hello?"
Click.

Yes, I hung up on the sleepy-sounding girl who answered his phone. I don't know why. I don't care about him anymore. I don't care who he spends his time with. And it makes sense that he's moved on. Heck, I've moved on. I'm still not entirely convinced that I wouldn't have hung up even if he had actually answered his own phone. To be perfectly honest, I probably would have hung up on his answering machine. I don't know.

Maybe next time I can be friends with an ex. I think this one is a lost cause.

Keep your fingers crossed that he doesn't remember my number.