Love Is for Losers Wibke Brueggemann (unputdownable books .TXT) 📖

by heart without needing to understand what they actually mean, but twenty-seven exams over six weeks?

It’s cruel.

Monday, March 12 #Polly

Interesting development with Polly today.

She asked me if I wanted to go to Starbucks with her after school tomorrow.

I was like: “Yes, sure, why not, I’m not working tomorrow,” and she was like: “I didn’t know you got a job,” and I was like: “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” (Obviously, I hadn’t.) “I work at Kate’s thrift shop.”

I can’t wait to see what she wants. Does she finally miss me, or is she feeling super guilty for being such a shit friend?

I’m sure all will be revealed.

Tuesday, March 13 #TotalTwat

I don’t know what I was thinking, but I honestly thought Polly wanted to see me because she missed me, but it turned out she wanted to see me because of her.

I suppose I should at least be a little bit flattered, because Tristan wasn’t there and literally hanging off of her.

When we got to Starbucks, Polly ordered her usual, and I was like: “Soy chai latte for here, please.”

Polly was like: “Since when do you drink that?” and I was like: “Since always,” which was obviously a massive lie.

We sat on our favorite brown leather sofa, and for like a millisecond of a moment, things weren’t even awkward at all but more like we’d been teleported back to a year ago when we were still perfect.

Then this happened:

Polly: It’s about Tristan.

Me (thinking: Are you fucking kidding me?):…

Polly: The sex isn’t working.

Me: Are you fucking kidding me?

Polly: I know! How’s that possible? We’ve got so much chemistry, and I really, really want it, but when we’re doing it, nothing, like … happens.

Me: No. I mean, are you fucking kidding me, wanting to talk to me about this? You don’t call or text or speak to me unless in passing for, like, three months—you never even wished me a happy new year, FYI—and now you ask to spend time with me so you can tell me your boyfriend is shit in bed? What did you expect from a guy who doesn’t know how to ride a bike?

Polly: Phoebe—

Me: No! I’m leaving. I don’t have the brain capacity to deal with your crap sex life right now. Why don’t you talk to Tristan? You talk to him about everything else.

And then I left.

Kate made us baked potatoes with baked beans for dinner, but I felt literally sick. She tried to feed me two forkfuls, but I told her I’d vomit if she made me eat more.

I can’t deal.

11:47 P.M.

I think it’s great Tristan has no clue what to do with his penis/mouth/fingers.

I think I’d actually hate him more if he was orgasm central.

Wednesday, March 14 #TalkToTheHand

I’m still so irritated.

This morning Polly was like: “Phoebe, I’m sorry about yesterday, it’s just tha—”

Me: I literally don’t want to know.

And then I walked away from her.

Because her drama is so irrelevant.

There’s war, famine, social injustice, climate change, and all everyone wants to talk about is sex. And then when they’re finally having it, they don’t shut up about it, either, because apparently it’s not actually as brilliant or life changing as they thought it would be.

Yawn.

And another thing: Polly can do something about that. She can talk to Tristan, but she doesn’t, and if people don’t even fix the things they can fix, how are we ever going to fix the big things?

Rant over.

Thursday, March 15 #DonationOfTheWeek

Today Emma suggested we should get more creative with the good/shit donations. She was like: “Why don’t we choose an item to be the donation of the week every week?”

Kate: Elaborate.

Emma: Something either cool, crap, or cringe. And we all have to upsell it.

Me: Like the picture frames with Mickey Mouse man?

Emma: Exactly.

Kate: Who doesn’t need one of those in their life?

Emma: Exactly.

Kate: I think it’s a brilliant idea, pet.

Emma and I then chose the chocolate fondue set as our first official donation of the week. Alex is 100 percent on board with it, too, and I swear he spent the rest of the afternoon asking every customer who came to the till: “Can we also tempt you with a chocolate fondue set?”

Apparently we could not.

Friday, March 16 #Puke

The cat threw up on my shoes.

I left it for a while, hoping the other cat would eat it, but it didn’t, and because Kate wasn’t home yet, I had to clean it up myself.

Blech.

It’s such a good metaphor for my life at the moment. Everyone’s literally vomiting all over it.

PS: I’m even looking forward to going to the thrift shop tomorrow.

Saturday, March 17 #TheWalkingDead

Today I overheard Pat trying to bitch to Emma about me.

I was about to walk into the stockroom when I heard them whispering, and so I stood outside the half-open door and tried to listen, and what do you know, not three seconds later, I heard Pat say my name.

Pat: Why does she have to dress like that? All black and skulls and spooky. It’s like … the walking dead.

Emma (LOLing): The Walking Dead is a TV show about zombies, Pat.

Pat: A witch, then.

Emma: Pat!

Pat: You know what I mean?

Emma: No, not really. Everyone’s got a different fashion sense.

Pat: I’m sorry, but I think that girl is odd. She’s always been like that, even when she was little. Quiet. But in an odd way, you know what I mean?

Emma: No, still no, but maybe you only think that because she’s put a witchy spell on you?

Pat:…

Emma (LOLing again): I think she’s very nice. Maybe she’s just a bit sad at the moment because her mum’s all the way in Syria.

Pat: Yes, well, that can’t be easy. Regardless—

At that point I was like: I don’t need to hear another word out of that awful woman’s mouth, and so I walked in all like: “Good morning!” (But extra chirpy.)

And, on the subject of everybody having a different fashion sense, some of the girls in my class must be under the impression