Behold! I present to you this very day... A Week Called INSANE.

Dear all.

Its been a week like no other; so this week shall go down in my life as the Week that I experienced several life-threathening beatings, some very insulting insults (are there any other kind of insults, really?), and some major drowning of my sorrows. So here goes. Four days worth of ranting. I wish you luck.



Life Threathening Beatings



It began with a sucker punch to my guts on Monday, courtesy of the Journalism II paper. It is to my utter despair that I report that we JR students did worse than the EL students, in general. Meaning we all did rather poorly. Sigh. I was limping out after the paper, weakened, with a red, blue, yellow and green bruise across my (always flabby) stomach.



Just when I thought I had recovered, I faced another solid ass-whooping with the MTA paper on Tuesday. This time, I was kicked in the shins, whacked in the head and bitten by some very sharp teeth around the thighs. It was my fault entirely; I was simply begging for it when I made some very bad decisions to skip classes (and if I attended, I slept). Thoroughly bruised, and not to mention with a tooth or two loose, I staggered out of the exam hall. I went home and b****ed about it to my mom, my sister and my dog, who, in her infinite wisdom, gave me a look which said," Do not bother me with your insignificant human problems, where is my dinner is a more pertinent question. Now, feed me."



And then, just yesterday, we faced the Communication Theories paper. Which I studied for. Which I actually felt ready for. Which I was sure I would walk out feeling alright. I was so wrong. Even HS and Bra going at it could not be MORE wrong. Even me in a short skirt could not be MORE wrong. I was so wrong I make wrong look right. I was so wrong, I was wrong-er than wrong. I was so wrong... You get it. I was wrong. The bleeding paper was SO hard, it made my sister's head look soft. And she be hard-headed, people. She be hard-headed. (I am not making sense anymore am I? Its the Chlorox again, I swear) I emerged from the freezing room; feeling as if someone had slapped me. Repeatedly. With something sharp-edged. J had numb hands from overwriting. K had, erm, numb brains from overthinking. I had numb everything. V had it bad too. The slapping around even knocked loose the part of my brain that was designated for dirty thoughts (standard requirement when you hang out with Bra-man and K).

So now I face the Advertising Copywriting paper. Which, I won't even assume anything about, because I've done that and that turned out SO well. So no assuming. No thinking. Just going to go in and do it. Not going to think. Gonna go with my first instincts. Just do what feels right. Use all my extra-sensory senses. Feel, not think. Enjoy the pleasurable flow of words out of my very whale-ish body. Just do it. Wait. Why am I making this sound dirty??????!!!!!!!


Very Insulting Insults

I must admit, my stress ball has made me weak. I can't seem to summon my rage, my anger, my frustration or sarcasm with my yellow ball in my hands. I become a calm, placid person. I am in tune with my zen. With my inner spiritual sanctuary. I find things that I should find insulting, funny. I am a very nice person. I am always a nice person, aha, take that. I may be fat, freakish, loud and crazy, but I am NICE. You gotta give me that. I believe in making up for what I lack. No one can blame me for being ugly, but I damn well won't be ugly inside as well as outside.

But I digress. K made a most disparaging and insulting and offensive remark about the state of my attractiveness and size. (Cannot mention here, may get arrested.) It was an excellent shot; have to give that to K, and damn, it was funny. It shouldn't be. It should be bloody insulting to me and I should be offended. If I were a different kind of girl, I would be. But I am not. So it was funny. Though he gonna get hurt reaaallll bad once I lose my stress ball (which I would be, soon, because I am very prone to losing things, and NO, NOT WHEN I SLEEP. Damn you K.).

Major Drowning of Sorrows

Yesterday makes time number 3 that I have gone to drown my sorrows in Mc D's ice cream. Let me tell you right now that there is no better way to drown sorrows than having a McD ice cream in front of you and one, two or three of your best friends there with you, also drowning sorrows. There are sorrows to be drowned, people, and we're gonna drown it in frozen milk and a whole load of sugar. Diabetes be damned! I don't care about my kidneys! About my liver! About my pancreas! Bring on the Sugar!!!!

*stuffs face with chocolates, despite mom's protest and sister's worried exclamations*

Cho. Vee mcheet chagain choon, my fwends. *chomp* Chomowo. Arrr. Vish chme chluck. *chomp chomp* Ifsh I chome chat chall. Ifsh I churvive che chnight. *chomp chomp chomp* Chmay chdie chof chugar choverdose. Arrrr. Choodbye chall. Choodbye.