I Hate My Life

It will be the last day before winter break in approximately fourteen hours; at some point between now and then, I fully expect my entire being to explode into a million billion bloody pieces, preferably as I'm walking into my first class of the day, so I can at least have the pleasure of knowing that my last moments of existence made a huge mess all over all the people in that class that I enjoy being around, scarring them for life and, possibly, setting off a chain reaction of spontaneous student explosions through out the school, as they go to their next classes and subsequently self-destruct. 

Why would I do this, you ask? Well, that's simple. They're called the senior project and the media project. One is so I can graduate. If someone says, "Senior Project," and you don't immediately want to cry, your school isn't doing it right. The media project is a huge part of my writing 121 grade, not as big as the final, but still important. If someone says media project, and you don't immediately want to cry, you probably didn't choose a topic that you remember almost nothing about. I want to cry whenever either is mentioned, as well as when I'm reminded that all my friends (well, the ones that have yet to graduate) and I will graduate and it's entirely possible I'll never see some of the more amusing ones again. Collegeland is vast, and once you get separated from your party there, your chances of finding them again are generally low. Therefore, saying, "I have to do my media project, and I have to do my senior project so I can graduate," is a sure-fire way to make me spontaneously combust.

As you recall, I was forced to go to the job fair on Tuesday. Now, I know I dreaded the event like a dog dreads the vet. In fact, the entire bus ride I couldn't shut up, because I felt that if I turned the talking switch off for even a second it'd be stuck that way. I kept expecting myself to explode, or faint, or curl into a ball and die. None of these happened. In fact, after the "inspirational" speech, which I found to be rather stupid, and trick-or-treating at the college booth set up for the career fair thing, I found myself inexplicably calm. I was still freaked, and if I hadn't had Mason, who looked quite dashing in his job fair attire, Ben, who looked less dashing, Kayren, who looked like Kayren, and, occassionally, Steven and Lucas, who both looked relatively attractive that day, around to keep me calm and entertained, I probably would have found a way to die in a horrible accident before they could force me to do an interview. 

The strangest part was when I was in line for the interview, and a slot opened up, and I threw on my confidence face and walked calmly over and aced the interview. My interviewer said I did very well and that he had issues coming up with constructive criticism. And suddenly it was over, and I was like, "What just happened?" And got in line again so I could do my second interview. I was looking forward to it, because for all I knew the first one was a fluke, and I wanted to make sure it wasn't. But I never got the chance. Suddenly, I was insulted that they weren't letting me do my friggin' interview. FUCK this. So I ate the candy I obtained from the career fair and stole Mason's tie. Because I was angry, and wanted to look spiffy like him.

According to some of my guy friends, I was actually acting somewhat like a girl and it was scaring them. Win.