stupid stupid stupid

Does an existential crisis exist in the 21st century if it's not announced on Facebook?

Do we exist if we're not on Facebook?

Every day is starting to feel like a Last Day. It makes me CERTAIN I would never want to know when I was going to die, because no matter how you cloak yourself in sunlight and swallow fist-fulls of optimistic rhetoric, the sadness stands like a vicodin-induced hallucination in the corner of the room. The countdown. The shittiest New Year's Eve of all-time.

I waited two months for one day that passed without the phone ringing one time. I watched tv and finished a knitting project, failed to crochet a dish rag, did laundry, cleaned the bathroom, went to the grocery store, ate lasagna, had a headache and waited. S got home and asked me with this totally inappropriate, genuine grin on his face, "So do you have any bad news for me" which I didn't even understand because it was a REAL sitcom smile, and I told him that "all life is suffering" and why should mine be appeased after only one day?

He said the meeting probably ran long. I should give it 'til Friday, in case she is just being a total bitch and increasing the intensity. I think it's called denial, really, but I wasn't ready to leave yet. He went to Paris for a two-day business trip (he asked me last night if God would forgive setting fire to the Death Eaters of Education building, if it were done with pure intention) and the logistics seemed difficult. Messy and tearful good-bye at the airport? Followed by a torturous day of learning the finer intricacies of SAS (I told him I used that in college, and he thought skipping out in lieu of private lessons would be totally reasonable). I don't know -- it didn't seem right. It just doesn't seem FINISHED. Plus, I still have 40 some euros in a bank account that I want back (the bank charges me 5,70 each month just to have a stupid debit card).

We went back to the parking lot of the Arboretum and ate mozzarella and tomato sandwiches last night, while the bugs tore apart his skin. I think the remnants of the poisonous bottle of rosé we had drank the night before, still stubbornly attacking my body, namely my head and potentially liver, scared them away. Smart little annoyances.

My roommate I don't like left me a note about a bbq that none of my friends are here to attend. She still has my towel after a week and a half of keeping it hostage; the situation is so awkward, now, I'm not even sure how to handle it.

Anyway, I'm thinking of skipping the bbq and going to see my baby goat instead. She can have children by the end of September, which shocks and annoys me.

Why did I only focus on what I was missing? What am I doing?