Warning: the following post is, in the great tradition of blogging, an indulgent rant. Read at your own risk. Side effects may include excessive eyeliner use, an inexplicable urge to listen to Evanescence, and the strong desire to punch the blogger in the face.
Ok, seriously? Seriously. ONE DAY I will learn not to call my parents. ONE DAY.
Apparently, that day? Not today.
I'm sick. Really fucking sick, actually, thanks for asking. Don't mind the pieces of lung. This does not, however, make me unique around here. The collective phlegm production of the campus here--let's put it this way, if you could sell it by the ton, we'd all drop out and make a fortune. Those of you who were eating, you're welcome.
So, I called my mom.
*Beep boop boop beep-boop boop beep*
*ring*
"Hi Mom!"
Look, it's my "I'm sick" voice. Mommy, come make me better, poooor me who has to take final exams. Sniffle
"Areyousick?Whatareyoudoingaboutthat?Whatareyoutaking?Youaren'tsleeping areyou?Thisisn'tgoingtohelpyoustudy!Youhaveexamsinafewdays!"
Oho, so you called looking for sympathy. Think again, sister. WRONG. FUCKING. NUMBER.
Wrong fucking number indeed.
Oh well.
At least the guy who hacks up wads of snot into the sink seems to have switched to tissues.
2 comments:
well, at least you're being a good college student and calling at all...I call only to be like "I'm taking this train home...see you then!"
*pat pat*
at least you didn't go to the campus health center only to be made to wait for 2 hours and then have them refuse to see you because they've lost your health form. PAIN!!
but anyway, FEEL BETTER!
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