“I can’t… like that’s just how I am, you know?” I do not get a chance to confirm whether I truly know, or not. “It’s so hard.” I nod. Yes, her life must be incredibly difficult; given the myriad of fantastical disorders she had self-diagnosed. Well there’s definitely something wrong with you, I think dimly.

She talks ill of herself with a big, fat, shit-eating grin on her nearly beautiful face. It’s the teeth. She’s actually quite lovely with her mouth closed. I do like her. She’s stupid, in a way that makes her easy to trust, and loyal to a fault. “I’m so weird. I’m scared of like, everything. Ugh and I never clean. I’m such a procrastinator.” I wonder idly when ineptitude became cool. I am too lazy to call her out or shut her up, so I mirror her facial expressions and gasp or laugh when I feel appropriate.

She may be flirting with me, but I feel so unattractive lately that I can’t even tell anymore. I leave feeling somehow ashamed. Her life is still better than mine.