Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Appointment with the prefix of Dis

Disappointment: the feeling of sadness or displeasure caused by the nonfulfillment of one’s hopes or expectations.

Yesterday I had one of those days. It began upon my alarm (this coming from only one of the 3 devises I set an alarm to go off simultaneously, seeing as I’ve been having trouble with A] the fact that my alarm on my phone decided never to work again and B] getting up in the morning at all). I had little to no sleep that night. I kept dreaming about my house (with me in it) being swallowed whole by a sea monster erupting from the ground in a volcanic burst and then swimming out into the ocean toward the Marianna's Trench. However it was not this that was waking me; I quite enjoyed this dream actually, this monster had a whole village living inside of it where problems were talked about and solved in a diplomatic manner. I met a girl there who loved adventure, and this monster was large enough to sufficiently travel around and provide entertainment for a lifetime, so we traveled and were entertained together, in more ways than one. What did wake me was the monstrous coughs caused by the huge buildup of flem in my throat from my week of plague. By the way, if you’re super sick like I was (and still sort of am) you should try “Wellness Formula” by Source Naturals, most likely available in a health/vitamin store near you.

I had a quiz in Geology that I studied super hard for, and was subsequently quizzed on shit I neglected to retain in my studies. Somebody please tell Asher Roth that a majority of people (at least ones I know) don’t love college, and furthermore, don’t give a flying fuck if he loves college. (Where does the term “flying fuck” come from? I’d love to join the mile high club and sometimes I feel like I’m flying while fucking...)

After my scholastic rendezvous, I got a key copied and then hurried home to freshen up for my big day. I had agreed to see a lady but was not sure if said lady would come to me, or if I were to go to her. Either way, I had to go home first to drop off my shit, put shit on my face, put together other shit, clean up my shit, and other homely duties. I received a text from the lady asking if I was working, to which I replied with my whereabouts, and then wondered why she was asking when I told her twice I'd be home. No matter, onward with the beautifying of my cranium.

After several hours past with no text or call, I realized just how much day I had wasted, and began to sulk into my abyssal loneliness while stuffing my face with pot stickers and cigarettes while watching old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy.

Fuck all.

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