Of Feuds, Scape Goats & Mordor.

Things have been pretty weird lately. Last night I got a really desperate text from a random number asking me for a ride, and I replied. Then the next morning I realized I have no idea who that is. Also, I don’t remember what I texted back saying because I was half asleep, which is a rather scary thought because I usually don’t turn down people asking for rides. And this morning when I tried to call back to find out who it was or what I said on the slight off chance that I’ll have a stranger following me around when I leave the house, they didn’t pick up. Now my instincts are telling me that I’m gonna die. Those same instincts are telling me I need coffee.

Also, my call register says I called a friend, and I have no recollection of the incident, and my friends list is missing 3 people and I have no idea who they are.

Now that you know what I'm dealing with, I don’t know whether I wanna find out what actually happened or if it’s better to just sit here and face the palm of fate whenever it decides to hit. Or, in this case, a stranger and three incensed friends.

It’s an interesting morning, to say the least.

Life Lesson #331: When you haven’t slept for a number of hours that exceeds 4 times your current age, stay away from technology as much as you possibly can.

Well, until I’m sober enough to link enough dots to figure out what just happened there, let me ramble on about my week.

I blew up in a stranger’s face last night in class. To my stressed out self, it seemed perfectly plausible to pitch a minute long repartee – most of which I don’t even remember – to her innocent ‘Excuse me, has class started yet?’ that includes but is not limited to ‘And what the fuck does that have to do with me? Last time I checked, I wasn’t listed on your emergency contacts for when you need a brain transplant. And stop following me around like a zombie. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to. So take that little bum of yours and scamper off to the frigging receptionist to ask about class and stop wasting my precious credit, my page loaded a minute ago.’

As if the language switch didn’t shock her enough. To be honest though, I’m glad I didn’t punch anybody in the face. I’ve been feeling like it lately and my level of consciousness at that point didn’t afford such an intricate calculation of the circumstances it would entail had I still felt like it when she was staring at me with those big puppy eyes of hers.

For all of you who think Karma will be giving it to me soon with a big momma slap across my juvenile cheek, it already has, that’s sort of my little version of ‘Bitch, it’s payback time.’ As if it wasn’t enough that I lost about 4 people in the course of the past week, with their crowd of faithful followers which added up to a huge sum and, as a consequence, a huge bite out of my social life, they turned to hate texts which turned into hate calls overnight. You know, the ones where you obliviously pick up to find out that a friend is greeting you with the most fluent verbiage of hateful cussing that hits just the right spots and sends your subconscious into convulsions. That’s what usually happens when a good friend, who knows enough about you to tailor the perfectly hurtful strain of sentences to your psyche because they’ve switched sides, that kind of thing. I’ve been wondering how long it would take them until I get hate e-mails and somebody feels loyal enough to invest their college funds in a hit man that swooshes in to end our misery, but by the looks of it, it’ll be sooner than I expected.

Things turn ugly pretty fast, and nothing is quite hard to handle than having friends turn ugly when your own ability to retort is that of a 9-year-old who dropped their ice cream.

Oh and did I mention that I have enough hate tweets on twitter to dub me a hash tag worthy of Justin Bieber?

Splendid week.

I have a meeting today, that conveniently includes two of the people who want my head on a silver platter, and I’m hoping that they’ve had their coffees this morning because I really can’t handle ghetto slander as much as I give off the impression of being capable of handling. I’m too short for this shit. Oh well.

I guess this is what it feels like walking into Mordor as a hobbit.

Wish me luck.