....

I was just talking to a friend of mine, and she asked me what was wrong.
Naturally, I told her nothing was wrong; although she knew something was, she didn't ask any more questions.
She recently found out she's pregnant.
I'm extremely happy for her - only problem I have is I'm the only one out of all my friends that aren't pregnant.
It seems that everyone that I know has found that special someone, able to start a family and start a wonderful life together. But me.

Some updates.

I've been blogging for a long time, but I just recently read up on why people blog. I don't think that people I know actually read what I'm writing, but I found blogging to be more like keeping a journal than anything. I would rather put my words out in the open where the internet can read them, rather than having my family read them. (Most of my family know how to use the internet – excluding my grandmother and anyone else past 40). My family don't even know that I keep a blog/journal over the internet anyway. They mostly believe that I've randomly stopped writing. Truth is, it's hard to keep a journal when everyone just goes and reads it anyway. Where's the privacy in all that? It's a sad day when one admits that the internet holds more privacy in things than one's own family.

A lot, actually. I really can't stand my grandmother any longer. It's hard to put up with someone that's been around since 1937, and continues to have the same mentality as if times haven't changed. It's not all that healthy to live with a 73 year old woman, as a 19 year old young woman. We don't see eye to eye, naturally. Plus, what good is it to be sharing a small bachelor apartment? She gets the bedroom, of course, while I get stuck sleeping on the couch. She doesn't like me sleeping on the couch, because she thinks I'm ruining it. However, she spends all day sleeping on it, so the couch is constantly being used. The unfair part is that she can sleep in her bed if she needs to take a nap or something.

I've had to get rid of a lot of my things to accommodate her. I've gotten rid of pictures, random knick-knacks, clothes, most of my writing, CD's, etc., just to please her and to take less place in the apartment. She still believes I still have too many things, and I have a total of 3 drawers of clothing, a large plastic tupperware box of things, and one box of random things that are needed for school and such. I'm living like a gypsy, ready to go at a moment's notice.

She says that she needs me, yet, at least twice a week she tells me she doesn't. No matter what I do, it's so hard to please her. She's got her head shoved so far up her butt, nothing will suffice. I pay her rent – approximately 500 dollars a month – and it's still not good enough.

I've started to leave a lot now, because it's hard to stick around her, the way she is. I still pay her rent, of course. Yet, it's never good enough for her. It's like, I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't. I can't read minds, and I can't perform miracles. I'm not wonder woman, I'm a 19 year old girl trying to graduate from high school, so I can go off to college and start my life.

Speaking of college, I still have no idea what I really want to do. All I know is that I'm pretty good in the social work field, so I think that's the direction I'll be taking. At least temporarily. I need to be somewhere that I know what I'm doing, and that I'm capable of doing a good job. I can't be somewhere that I know I won't enjoy what I do, and that I'm only there for the money. It's certainly not fair to the people around me, or potential clients; makes me feel selfish and self-centered.

Oh well. I suppose this is enough for now.

I'll talk soon.

- Mellie