The Bubble

There is a girl sitting way to close to me at the bar in the campus coffee shop. There is NO REASON for her to be sitting this close to me. There is plenty of space. Move over, slightly sweaty, loud girl! This space is mine. Why else would I have spread out over at least two stools worth of counter? It's a hint that I DON'T WANT YOU SITTING THERE.

I want that space so that I don't have to worry about you reading over my shoulder while I write this blog post about you.

Please stop bumping me with your elbow every five minutes and not noticing.

Please stop laughing maniacally with your three other girl and boyfriends.

Please take off your sweaty windbreaker so that it will stop cracking when you move.

Please hang your backpack on the back of the chair.


This sounds means. That's why I am writing it down instead of telling here. Because sometimes I just need to be bitchy and mean about tiny, unimportant things...

But this bubble is mine, and I don't want your presence in it.