Idiota
05 February, 2002 :: 11:45 a.m.
I'm an idiot--and I can prove it:
The last three knuckles on my right hand are split open. Why? Because I'm an idiot like I already said.
--"Hey, it's 7 o'clock"
--(in my head) "Yeah, so?"
--(in my head) "OH! Oh shit! It's 7! I have a test at 7:30! I haven't studied for the test! Wait. How the hell did it get to be 7?"
--(Me out loud) "Fuck! I'm FUCKED! I haven't studied and now I don't have time! Motherfucker!"
--"I've been trying to get you up since 6"
--(in my head) How the hell did I fall asleep? I was gonna stay up and study. What the fuck? (I use that word a lot when I'm upset about something...so I guess you could say I use that word a lot)
I spring up realizing that I need a shower and I need to study for this test I have in half an hour. So basically I need the next thirty minutes to stretch out to last 120 minutes. No problem, cuz that sort of thing happens all the time. Wait, I'm not Reed Richards, I don't have a machine that does something like that. Back to being FUCKed. Ahhhhhhh, why is this happening. Oh, I know what will make me feel better, I'll punch this wall. SonofabitchSonofabitchSonofabitchSonofabitch
Okay, that didn't make me feel better, that just fragging hurt. OwOwOwOwOwOwOw
Oh but look, my hands all bloody, so that's kinda neat. Yeah, right. I AM AN IDIOT--there, I said it. It's in writing. Actually, for anyone who's read more than just this one entry, a lot of them have pretty much been about me being an idiot, have they not? Self-improvement is a foreign idea to me, I guess. I may learn from one mistake, but goddamn if I don't find something new that's equally or even more stupid to do.
Actually, there's one person that I know is reading this right now and thinking, "New? You moron, you've done this same thing before."
Yes, Pat, I have. So might as well run through that too.
It's my first year of college, second semester. I live with Char, but I also have a dorm room that I share with Pat. That's how I got to know the bastard so well...going to orientation and deciding to get a dorm room and deciding to room with him. But back to the story...
I have a 9 o'clock and 10 o'clock class then back to the dorm for a nap and then a 1 o'clock class with Char. She's there to wake me up from my nap. Pat and Char and my alarm clock are all doing their parts to get my ass up out of bed. I finally have had enough of people and machines trying to wake me up because all I wanna do is for once get a decent amount of sleep, class be damned. Enough already! I roll over and in that same motion make a fist and punch the concrete wall next to my bed very hard. owww
Okay, so I'm up now, but not in a good mood. There's a blood splatter on the wall and my knuckles are bleeding really, really bad. (Much worse than last night) I think this may have been when I threw one of my shoes across the room and made a comment about people picking on me cuz I was only half awake or something like that. Off to the bathroom I go to clean my hand and stop it bleeding. I'm running my hand under cold water and soaping it up and sonofabitch it hurts! Then I look in the mirror...oh cute, oh fucking lovely. A blue dot of nail polish, courtesy of Pat, in the center of my forehead. Maybe that's what was so damn funny. I am not amused. I'm going to kill Pat once my hand is cleaned up and I get rid of the dot on my head. I have to pry the little glod of enamel off of my head. Ouch. And it leaves behind a lovely little red dot. (Note--I didn't kill Pat or even threaten him at that time...later I threatened to paint his nails while he slept and I did do that, but I never attacked him and we lived happily ever after.)
I stopped taking naps between classes because it just wasn't worth the hassle to myself or friends. I started playing Game Day with Pat and Lance. Things went much better. If I slept at the dorm at all after that, Pat took to waking me by prodding me with my pool cue.
