Why did I have to get sick this weekend? This weekend of all weekends – those two days of grace when I could have caught up on everything the week before finals! Fucking fuck. Shit. Damnit. D’oh. Fucktastic, shitty, ass gurgling fuckwad on a stick, burning to an apparent death on a fire fed by term papers of yester-year. The amount of puke expelled from my body does not compare to the amount of words I have to vomit into a coherent structure in the next ten days. If only I had gotten so sick that it would have killed me! No, that would’ve been the easy way out, and I’m never about making anything easy for myself. Son of a nipple-biting honey badger! This is it. I’m going to fail all of my classes. I’m going to lose my scholarship. The shame will be so large that I will be forced to abandon my once-loving family for a cardboard box on the street. My only objective will be to scrounge up enough change for a little bread and wine, but I’m sure I’d fail at that, too! Fuck my passive-aggressive persona. Fuck my roommate for getting me sick and forcing me to rest while he made me tea and bought me cough drops. Fuck the internet and weed and everything else that kept me from doing what I needed to do this past semester! And fuck me for going on this rant when I know for damn sure that I ought to be thinking about real academic shit.