Not even 24 hours after the initial anger-induced bought of slamming around and yelling at people, and the friend I was ranting to throughout my mother's episode last night decided to tell her that I told him about the whole situation. Apparently, I "should be embarrassed". Of what? Certainly she didn't mean to imply I should be embarrassed of my mother, but I am.

I've divided my bedroom into sections to be worked on, tidied up and packed within the next week. I've chosen the apartment I want to move into as soon as I have the money saved up, and wrote to request more information from the management. Hopefully I can be in a place by September 1st at the latest.

If she was angry about me wanting to spend weekends with my boyfriend, how much moreso will she be when I move into his house for good?

And no, I'm not pregnant.

I spent 6 nervous days unemployed, as my job laid me off on the 5th. On Sunday and Monday I attacked Monster.com, and on Tuesday I brought my troops (myself, a pen, and my boyfriend) to the mall to see what was happening there. I started on the first floor, and filled out 7 applications. By the end of the day, I had one promised call, and one secured interview. That interview was today, and I got the job.

Granted, it sucks being a to-be college graduate with a degree in English, moving into a career having nothing to do with reading, writing, or education. But looking on the bright side, it is a job, and will look better on my resume than empty space would. I've never worked retail, and I'm always eager to learn something new. It's also very close to my home, and would easily become a part time job when I get my teaching license. Goodness knows that with the student loan, I can use all the jobs I can get.

So why does this new job warrant such an epic title? Well frankly, I'm kind of excited. With this new job I feel refreshed. I have something new to learn, in a nice environment. I'm able to dress trendy as opposed to stuffy, like at my old job. And with this new career path comes a new attitude. I feel motivated to do the things I put off while I was in school. I can spend my days working in the store, and my mornings or nights (depending on my schedule!) writing the novel I always wanted to. I won't have to place my independence in the hands of my parents as I feared I might if I remained unemployed for long. I am going to be able to remain in control of myself, and not have to ask them for help with my bills.

It may not get me out of my house as quickly as I hoped a new job might. But with my 21st birthday coming up, I can only suspect that things are going to get better... and fast.

I pulled my pants on, sucking my stomach in slightly to button them. They were slightly too tight, but I'm working on it. I turned my head around as far as I could, trying to discern how my butt looked in these pants. I knew they looked good. That was the first place he touched.

Meeting up with my boyfriend for his birthday, he playfully grabbed me, pulling me tight to him. In his playful roughness, he bit at my neck and rubbed my sides vigorously. I pushed him away, my heart pounding in remembrance. "No, no, stop..." I adjusted my shirt, a tingling sensation crossing my chest where I had been touched me the weekend before.

At the party, I drank too much. Memories came back. I sunk to the ground, remembering the feeling I had when he had given me the drink -- remembering how I was put on my knees in front of him. I told them what had happened. My phone was taken from my pocket, the number given to another friend. I buried my face in my hands and shook, partially from the effects of the alcohol, but mostly for fear as my friend called my molester.

Listening to my friend, and the words he spoke, only further reminded me of the incident. On my knees, my face buried in his couch, he had told me things. It was my fault. I had asked for it. I'd done enough tonight. Leave. I'm so young. Just leave. Forget it happened.

I have not heard from him, as I feared I would have after such a threatening phone call as my friend delivered. I know that I will see my molester again. When I do, I don't know how I will react. I don't know when I will tell the proper authorities, or if I will even dare to approach our mutual boss with the story. For now, I know my friends will fight for my honor. I know it was not my fault.