I’ve been suffering through the most excruciating pain. The past fifteen days have been a constant, literal headache that I cannot, for the life of me, shake. I’ve had two visits to the urgent care, I’ve tried countless medications, and I’m at a dead end. Nothing is working. It’s not going anywhere.
I’ve tried: tylenol, aleve, ibuprofen, aspirin, excedrin, decongestants, a prescription steroid, tramaol, promethazine, and claritin. Nothing is working. I can barely hold my head up. All I can really do is lay in bed and cry.
It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. I’m grouchy and irritated because of it. I feel like I’m an inconvenience and aggravating my boyfriend and grandma. I’m so ready to feel better, however it happens.
Holding the blow dryer to my body because it’s only like 50 degrees in my room, and 20 outside.
FOR GOD’S SAKE GIVE ME SPRING OR GIVE ME DEATH.
I do not have an internet connection at my house. I have to drive twenty minutes to McDonald’s to do web-y things on days I don’t have class or when I’m not at my boyfriend’s house. When I come here, I half watch netflix, half do my homework, and half people-watch.
There’s a high school literally a minute and a half from here. I live in a small town, so it’s a small high school. But starting around 3:15, it becomes a madhouse in here. An entire ladies’ sports team walked in, ordered their food, and started sitting in the group of tables next to me. My bags were in a chair next to them and so I moved my things to give them more space. There were three more girls who hadn’t sat down yet so I’d know they would need the space.
I keep watching my documentary and a few minutes later, I had to use the restroom. I’m on my period, so I grabbed my purse just in case I needed to change. When I got up, I left my MacBook and iPhone on the table. By time I make it to the bathroom door, I hear one of the girls say to her friends, “Why you gotta take your purse? I don’t want your purse. Fuckin’ racist.”
I ignored it, did my business, washed my hands, and came back to my table. I started watching my documentary again, and I hear the same girl say, “I should have taken her phone to give her something to worry about.”
No. I am not a racist. My step-mother is a racist. She has a white superiority complex so deeply instilled on her by her father that she has threatened to beat me if I ever came home with a black man. That is racist.
I am kind. I am caring. I am considerate. I am also a lady, on her period. I shouldn’t have to be called a racist for not wanting to dig a tampon out of my purse in the middle of a restaurant. I also shouldn’t have to weigh my options between being called disgusting or nasty and being called a racist.
Now, I wait for a social justice blogger to find this and tear my tiny, two-day-old person blog apart for being upset over being accused of being something I despise.