It’s like fucking Dawson’s Creek around here! Or; Grief Makes You Selfish, and Occasionally Mean.

*Before I start bitching: All names have been changed to protect the innocent, as per usual. If I’m entitled to my anonymity, so are they.

Last night I went to go see Employee of the Month with some of my friends. Funny movie, btw. Dane Cook cracks my shit up; Jessica Simpson, not so much. Anyway, after the movie, I ended up spending some time sitting in my car, talking with my friend Carrie. Who was crying her eyes out, over our mutual friend Ken. There’s this whole fucked up triangle thing going on between Carrie, Ken, and Ken’s girlfriend, Taylor, who is also, you guessed it, one of my good friends.

I just cannot take the drama anymore. I want to fucking smack all three of them. Carrie’s sitting there, crying, and I’m trying to comfort her, and really all I want to do is to make her shut up, because I don’t care about her Dawson’s Creek problems, or how she and Ken are best friends, and she hates Taylor, and Taylor hates her, blah blah blah blah and will she and Ken ever be more than friends, blah blah blah blah.

Basically, for all you fellow Dawson’s Creek junkies: Carrie is Joey, Ken is Dawson, and I think that would make Taylor Jen. Which leaves me as what, Pacey? Oooh goodie. If we follow the whole storyline along that means I’m going to 1) fall in love with a mental patient and 2) end up in lesbian love with Carrie. Okay, so the Creek thing only goes so far.

I’ve been watching a lot of Dawson’s Creek lately. Damn you, Netflix. I give you my money and you send me Dawson’s Creek DVDs. I have a problem, and you encourage it. You’re an enabler, that’s what you are!

Anyway, I understand that Carrie’s hurting, really I do, and I want to be a good friend. But it’s hard for me to listen to her problems for hours on end without ending up feeling like she has no right to complain to me, my life sucks so much more than hers. Which is just mean! And what exactly do I say? “Um, yeah. My dad died unexpectedly, he just didn’t wake up one morning, and then my house got flooded and God only knows when we’ll be able to move back into it, so shut the fuck up about your fucking boy troubles?”

God, I feel mean for even thinking it. Basically, I’m a sucky friend right now. I’m not in any place to be giving people advice. But advise I did, and I talked to her civilly and didn’t strangle her, so why do I still feel like a lousy person?

Meh.

Meanwhile, I’m having trouble with the smallest, stupidest things. Like somebody will come through my line at [—–] and buy Good & Plenty’s (sp?) and I’ll feel like I’ve been punched, trying not to cry, because I hate them, but they were my dad’s favorite candy.

Okay, and now I’ve brught myself to tears writing this. It’s 4:15 in the morning. I should probably go to bed. And I refuse to cry myself to sleep. Sleeping pills, here I come.