sickenkitten

"Would life stop pissing in my Cheerios...before I fucking scream?"

I've been bitching alot lately. So what? I'm having a bad week. ...let's make that a bad month, since my memory is bad, and I can probably only remember one week at a time.

So, here's how my day played out. I went to the bus stop. I waited for an hour for a bus that never came. Got Helena to bring me to school. Got there right before the late bell rang. Sat in homeroom, and got my headphones taken from me, right in the good part of Opeth's "Demon of the Fall." Fag. Bell rings.

I went to GYM. I yelled at Liz, because she didn't hear what I was telling her, and told me to repeat myself. Sat in GYM. Read a book. While, Liz watched porn on her portable DVD player. I, of course, was not interested, and had to block out the whorish moans of whores, and grunts of males with fake penises, fucking girls with fake boobies. Bell rings.

I went to my English III class, and sat in there, alone, and read. There was some school event I didn't want to attend, and my teacher let me stay behind, without her in there as well. Bell rings. Go to Math and the teacher makes me take off my hood. Ahhh. School lighting burns my retinas until they sink into the pus of my eye organs. Bell rings. I went to Civics, did nothing. Bell rings. Lunch time. Crappy food. Ate with Liz. Nothing. Bell rings. Intro to BCA time or in other words, my nap time. Bell rings. Biology. Sleeping. Bell rings.

I waited outside of school for a half an hour for a bus that never came. Go figure. I walked in the baking sun for a few blocks to the Barnes and Noble. Called Helena. Then, I wait for an hour for her to come pick me up.

Now, I'm home. I'm tired. I have work tomorrow. I have no cash in my wallet. I have no boy in my bed. I'm rubbing my own arms from soreness, and rubbing my own...well, you know, against my pillows, to relieve some stress from my piss-poor existance.

"Something has got to give."