I moved back to Carmel last night.  I came to the conclusion sometime around 5pm that I was tired of living in a city where I’d been having a string of bad luck, living with a crazy passive-aggressive roommate, and fearing that I’d run into my douchenozzle ex around every corner.  So I called my mom, and I called my brother, and I was home around 11:30 last night.  Packed my shit, waited for my brother to come get me, and now I’m home.

The San Francisco experiment failed, and I’m bloody relieved to be home.  Three months ago, I had a boyfriend, a perfectly tolerable job, a car, and a home with people who love me.  I moved away from the job and the home, the boyfriend broke up with me (because he’s a douchenozzle) and my car got hit by a truck, which meant that I got to be rushed to the hospital on a backboard!  I can check that one off the bucket list now!  Also, in the fight between big goddamned truck and tiny car made of plastic, the truck was the victor.

No job, no car, no boyfriend, and a roommate who seemed to hate me more and more as time went on, but refused to tell me why.  Until yesterday when she said “You’re really messy.”  Which, actually, wait a minute, isn’t fucking true.  And the other two roommates confirmed this: I made fewer messes than anyone else in the house, and I did most of the cleaning.  OOPS.  Maybe if she’d talked to me about it, we could have resolved that without two months of her trying to drive me insane.  Anyhow, the damage was done.  Now she can be the one to clean up everyone’s messes!

As soon as I decided to leave, I felt much less stressed-out.  And now that I’m home I feel happy, actually happy, for the first time since the douchenozzle broke my heart!

I’m back home, bitches!