Taste My Shit…Pie. (A Post Guaranteed To Make You Feel Better About Your Life. Unless You Live In A Cardboard Box, Not Sure What Would, Actually.)

I have been out of it for the last month or so. By it I mean life. And I have been out of blogging for quite a long time, it seems.

When your anxieties come back to bite you in the rear end after months of freedom, will, it sucksbad.

But when you anxieties come to bite you and you fall in a state of unwillingness to get out of bed, or to go to sleep, or to do anything, productive—or unproductive, for that matter—it sucks, like, big time.

School’s just around the corner, and frankly, the mere thought of having to spend a period of time close to ten months around a number of devolved, sloppy, smelly and idiotically uneducated—the blame falls on the educational system, but also on the stupid students—teenagers, is just…so…disturbing.

I don’t even think I’m going to make it through the semester. Especially with my lack of sleep, and all those extra classes.

Plus, Egypt’s going through one hell of a ride…that only goes down. Only adding to my emotional Shitpie. (Yes, I’m reading The Fault in Our Stars for the third time. Also adding my pie.)

So overall, I’m most probably—Worst Case Scenario—going to have a mental breakdown accompanied by an out-of-place panic attack in the middle of second period. Or—Best Case Scenario—going to have the same things, only at home. And then shut everybody out for a week or so.

Please, if you have any means of uplifting my screwed up emotions, share. *Whispers to himself: Please let it be Harry Potter and Kittens..*

 

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Paradox #2: All The Time In The World

No time.

I run down the stairs, and storm through the door. Mom calls on me, but I don’t look back; I haven’t got anytime to waste.

Besides, She probably wants me to have breakfast with that fat hairy creep she calls her husband. As if!

I sprint on the side walk, my heels clicking against the pavement. I can still make it in time. I slip on a little puddle, but I grab the neighbors fence for support. Dirty water splatters my skirt.

Shit! I whisper.

Something catches my sight, a paper, a sketch half dipped in the puddle. Someone had sketched a beautiful fairy, sitting on a rock in a river. I don’t why but I tuck it inside my Burberry tote, and pick up my pace.

The steps to the school’s door are wet with man boot prints. I walk up them and I leave a similar trail.

In the hall, all the boys look at me. As usual. And all the girls envy me.

And I realize, I just can’t be late; I’m the diva of this school, and I’ve got all the time in world.

“Oh my God Izzy! What happened to your skirt?” Stacy Brown. My closest friend says as she syncs with my pace.

“What?” I look down at my skirt. I remember the splash when I see the brown smudge on it. “Puddle! I’ll go wash it of.”

“But class starts in a minute, you’ll be late!”

“So what? I’ve got all the time in the world.” I say matter-of-factly. And give her a smirk and a wink.

Storming through the bathroom door while looking at my skirt, the last thing I was expecting was the sight of a boy surrounded by shards of glass and with a bloody hand. But it was exactly what I saw.