On Being Clumsy and Hating Boston

So today my boss asked me into his office. (No, I didn't forget to wear pants again).
Him: What's up?
Me: Nothing.
Him: What's with the bruise on your arm?
Me: Oh! Coney Island. This ride knocked me around a lot.
Him: Oh. I thought you were in an abusive relationship or something. I haven't been in a fight in a while.

Ahahaha, awesome. Yeah, I bruise really easily. And also fall down a lot. I constantly look like a small child who spends far too much time in the playground.

So, you all remember what I looked like when I moved to Boston. No? Here. Read about it. There. All caught up? Great.

So, I hate hate hated living in Boston. Nobody wanted to talk to me because I didn't dress or look like the other people up there. I got ignored at parties, my self esteem took a pretty rough hit. I was looking at an old journal today when I found this:

I walked around a library today with my head held high and people looked at me like I was important. I felt important. Why can't I be important here? Why am I only important when surrounded by dust and decay? A boy who was reading stopped when I walked by and looked right at me. I got flustered and walked into a chair.

I am far, far too clumsy for my own good. The Tigerlily and I were talking about this the other night, and I always think about an Amalah post that says, "No, you cannot has nice things." Because it's true. ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves