RANDOM HAPPENSTANCE IS TRYING TO KILL ME.

The other day me and Sister were walking to school on the sketchy bike path, as usual.






Suddenly, there was this great noise.






It was like in Jurassic Park when they’re sitting in the car and the water starts shaking in the footprint on the ground, and they heard this thump and there’s just this raw terror: that was what it was like.
So Sister and I turn around and are met with this sight:







It looks like a group of people training for the army. But they are all really buff and REALLY FAST. Also, they are screaming this long, droning roar that sounds as if they were Sparta and we were their enemies.

We turn back around and walk faster. Maybe they’ll just go away.

But then we turn around again. The guttural roaring gets closer and more droning.





I finally decided that it was time to kick into Life Protection Mode and get off the path. Luckily there was a convenient side street; we would soon count ourselves among the lucky few to survive this.









I respect whatever group they were training for, but they made me feel bad about myself. I, just a weedy high school girl taking Early Bird Gym in order to take a film class, could not handle this much manliness and endurance.






Then, as if in distaste at my failure, my bag of salsa Sunchips tried to put out my eye. I opened it and somehow, as if by the grace of the irony gods, the tiniest corner of a chip broke off and flew at the most direct trajectory and at the highest velocity (see, I can use physics!) TO BURY ITSELF IN MY CORNEA.







Not only that, but the chips are really salty and spicy, so it was burning like the fiery pits of Hell. I screamed and ran around the kitchen senselessly while my sister helpfully read off the list of ingredients, trying to find what was having a spice orgy in my eye.

Enjoy your safe and unharrowing lives. Protect your loved ones. Save Atlantis.

I HATE EVERYTHING ESPECIALLY YOU.

There is something about Sunday that just takes crap and multiplies it times infinity. I think it may be an actual equation and it has something to do with church. For some reason, I always see happy church people on Sundays and they never look like I feel, which is like this:





Yes. This is the universe and irony working in tandem.

Every Sunday is the same: grocery shop, homework, cook, clean, laundry, repeat. And the fact that you’re wearing your crappiest clothing because everything is in the laundry is just your irony-universe reminder that you won’t look gorgeous and delightful while doing it. I think there’s a little barrier in your brain that is specifically marked ‘Sunday’ that breaks every week from this type of image.



























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I hope all of your Sundays are better with this added negative (but colourful and fantastic) thought to go along with this fantastical day.

Just Your Friendly Neighbourhood Future Decider

So all these thoughts about college kind of make me want to crawl inside a crayon box and live there for a million years and find Peter Pan and make him hunt down the Sorcerer’s Stone with me so I could have the Elixir of Life and be friggin immortal like Nicholas Flamel. Unfortunately, that isn’t happening, so today I had to consider my options of what I wanted to major in in college. Sadly this proved too much work for my brain and when I got to the list of majors, my brain went SCREW LOGICAL, I WANNA DO THAT CUZ I SAW IT ON CRIMINAL MINDS.

So I made a list of majors. Sad, right? Well, the list was pretty pathetic to begin with. It kind of went like this, with all the ideal shiny sparkly ludicrous stuff that probably won’t happen at the top.

IDEAL
1.Profiler/Law/Criminology

‘Nuff said.



2.Cinematology/ Film Producing

Because for some reason I think I’d be Indiana Jones.





3.Playwright/Screenwriter/Miraculously-my-book-turns-into-a-movie

Because that would just be AWESOME.





Unfortunately, I don’t think any of these are going to work out. As much as I’d like to show up at…well…wherever the crime scene investigator gods work out who gets to solve mysteries and stuff, I don’t think that’s what happens in real life. So basically I’m really only qualified and can really only focus on one thing: writing. And we all know what the future for that looks like.

REAL
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Oh well. If I fail at that, I can send in my application to become a vampire (I got inspired watching one of the many previews for True Blue Vampire Gates Series Eclipse Diaries 3). Because really, they don’t need any real qualifications anymore, and the shows multiply like bunnies.

That Day I Lost My Migraine Virginity

Today I knew I was going to die. It was the only logical option.

I started off thinking nothing was wrong in math class, minding my own business and writing down the homework when HOLY OLD PEOPLE VISION BATMAN the middle of my eyes suddenly went blank. I mean, I could see, but things I was focusing on, like a word or a page or a face, would just not be there. It didn’t bode well for me trying to pay attention when half of my math teacher’s face just disappeared. Of course, it being early, I tried to rationalize, and had fun looking at the clock and not seeing it and pretending I could bend the power of time.




Walking through the halls was a treat. No one had faces. It was like a trippy-ass music video.

But by the time I got to second period, I was seriously getting freaked out. I sat down in my class and all of a sudden not only did I have the blind spot in the middle of my eye, but also my right peripheral vision just…disappeared. I spent a large quantity of the class looking nervously behind me to see if I was disappearing into the Matrix or if Jesus was going to come out of the smoke and chant religious stuff at me. So that was fun for a while. Soon my right peripheral vision had just totally gone to shit and it was happening on the left, too. So I couldn’t see my class and the blind spot was getting worse and I think people may have been laughing at me because I was really tearing up and getting really hysterical, and I think I stood up and gave everyone (that I could see out of my tunnel vision) a thumbs up and sort of waddled over to Mr. Douglass, who asked me if I was okay BUT HE DIDN’T HAVE A HEAD BECAUSE MY TOP VISION WAS GETTING ALL WIGGLY AND MAKING STUFF GO AWAY. WHAT. THE FUCK.







So after that minor problem, I sat through an excruciating Spanish class, wondering if I was going to die and if my eyes were clouded over and then secretly wondering if I could wear a pirate patch the rest of my life and whether or not I could see dead people in the next phase when it just got so bad that I admitted defeat and went to the nurse’s. I was shaky, hysterical, over-tired and trying to keep calm, just in case this was like my trial for becoming like one of the X-Men or something, and when I showed up at the nurse I looked like this:











What’s the moral of the story, you ask? Well, kiddies, I Wikipedia’d migraines through and through, and apparently when you don’t eat, don’t sleep, spend too long staring at computer screens, and are emotionally stressed, your vision craps out on you and leaves you for a more stable lifestyle!! Who would’ve thought? Now I feel like an official old person, and am fully not looking forward to returning to my first couple classes on Tuesday.