found myself with a bottle of cheap beer, scraping paint off my kitchen floor using boiling water and a hair clip from middle school that once had a teal plastic cover before i peeled it. i was spilling dirty water on my wool skirt, and overdressed to sweat.
then i realized in the midst of this horribly awkward and mundane moment that i am really exhausted with lying to people about wanting to be alone.
my parents brought me food because i called them crying, again, because that is what latin families do when you call them crying - they fatten you up and do a strange sort of “you’ll be okay,” without being too emotional about it. they left after a few minutes, and i tried awkward silence to keep them around because i hardly get any human interaction outside of work—if at all—during the week. got me a good 23 seconds or so.
i’m above calling people when i’m lonely, because i would rather sit here in this itchy skirt with rashes on my knees alone than call a friend to keep me company. i am my mother’s daughter, cleaning until raw and bruised instead of being honest about my weaknesses and feelings.