'I think he's more depressed than I am,' she thought glumly.
The night before was not the blur she intended it to be, every painful memory stung like a needle. The a sea of faces flooded her memories. The room was filled with people she had gone to school with and graduated with, yet every single one of them had trouble remembering her name and her face.
Most of them thought that she was a plus one, of her more popular friend.
The masochistic inside of her knew this would happen, but the soft spoken optimist that took a back seat in the room of her mind had hope that someone would remember her and want to know more about what she'd been up to for the past ten years.
No such fantasy came to life. There was no handsome guy standing in the room who caught her eye, there was no former classmate to really remember who she was let alone care.
She forced herself to get up and wondered how difficult it would be to create her own other version, a more charismatic, a more interesting, a more outgoing version. How she hoped to create her own Stefan Urkle or her own Tyler Durden.
She looked up at the wall of photography, a mecca of imagery that no one would buy. She looked to her computer and realized that she lost count of just how many rejected stories she had written. She looked at the poster on her wall and thought about the one show that she produced for local television that barely anyone watched.
A room of failures was her home. She sat down and put her head on her desk, while listening to her neighbor strum away at his or her guitar.
She resisted the urge to check her facebook page, she was ready to get rid of it once and for all, after the horrendous night. She knew exactly what she would find, no messages for her, but messages all around for everyone else.
Even though she was just waking up she felt tired, the very notion of people were upsetting to her as it was everyday she had to get up and get ready for work.
'People are ridiculous,' she thought.
For what purpose did they serve? Was always her question. Everyone had theories and answers, but no one actually knew.
She nearly burst into tears at the sight of herself. Her shoes were cheap and years old, her clothes were ragged, she had sewn parts together to keep them longer. The salary of a receptionist did not pay well at all. Especially for someone who had school loans to pay back. In the present economy having a Bachelors Degree was not enough. And during this time people took what they could get.
As the young lady packed up her lunch and left for work, she would wish that she hadn't put off checking her online messages. For she had a very important one waiting for her in her inbox.