When He Says No

Boys were made to make girls cry.

I believed in that. Or I thought I did. Then I made the mistake of disagreeing with the truth-Icarus flying too close to the sun because I'm a rebel for kicks kind of person- and here I am, heart in so many pieces I am having an aneurysm figuring out just how I would put it together. Oh no, not to fall in love again. II only want to become a normal functioning human being, you know the type that arrives at her workplace at nine in the morning, chirpy and bright, her smile causing the others to smile as well...
Not the other one. Oh you must have felt this way. Seeing someone else happy and needing to barf or better, cry in the janitor's closet for how miserable your life is.
As my friend Yuri says, I have a tendency to get carried away. And talk, like a lot. Yuri is glaring at me now. I asked her to see what I'm writing and-Oh, she's giving me the 'death stare'. Jesus, that girl needs an exorcist.
Shit shit shit. I'm late for work. Again. That'll kick me out for sure now. Or not. I'm the only one who knows how to operate that Abraham Lincoln era coffee machine, so they'd rather have me just for that.
Still, I think I should go... I'm running out of words to write. And time. Though I don't think the latter is as important.