I will structure this like a diary entry for these various reasons;
a) I'm vaguely bored. And I'm not in the mood to type normally. But not so abnormally it's an unrecognisable text type.
b) It *might* help for SC tomorrow. Or knowing the lovely spirits controlling everyone's lives, will not help. Whatever.
c) I HAVE TO WRITE TEN PARAGRAPHS AND THIS COUNTS AS ONE. (: <= one!
7/11/2009
Dearest diary of mine... <= second paragraph!
Today I greeted the world with a triumphant yell of distress thanks to a daring alarm clock which had dared rouse me from my not-quite-peaceful slumber at the ungodly hour of 6a.m in the morning. Imagine that! The nerve! Well yeah, thus my triumphant yell. After the yell, I then got not-very-triumphantly-yelled at by the maternal figure in my life for awakening everyone. When I attempted to hoist the blame onto my accursed alarm clock, she naturally disbelieved me. Oh what a tragic start to what should have been a lovely Saturday morning! <= third!
After this bracing start to the day, I sat on my lovely burnt umber armchair and attempted to snooze there. It was a perfectly dastardly plan to get out of doing any work or revision and went off without a hitch. That is, until my lovely maternal figure disturbed me once again! After another extremely invigorating lecture about rising at blasphemous hours and then shirking the responsibilities that comes along with that, I dejectedly set off towards my chores. <= fourth!
Oh beloved diary of mine, did you ever know that wallowing in self-pity is an extremely amusing thing to do? The next two hours of my life went as;
* Fold a blanket in half.
* Curl up into a corner of the room, inwardly sobbing about all the injustices of my world.
* Fold the same blanket into quarters.
* Retreat once more into the corner while still internally whining.
* Fold the blanket into sixths.
* Plod back into the corner. Trace meaningless patterns over the ground. I mean, how much can a person wallow in such a long period of time?
* Fold the blanket into eighths.
* Reject the corner. How long can you spend in there? It has...spiderwebs! So yeah, that's what happened until 8:30a.m <= fifth!
Succeeding at the strenuous task of folding a blanket, I sat down to some very well-deserved sustenance. Munching, crunching, slurping, sipping...all were actions I went through while breaking my fast. It was really entertaining, testing out all I could do while imbibing and digesting. Or at least it was amusing until the maternal figure of my life dropped a bombshell on my poor unsuspecting mentality. It was then when I found out that the previously relatively-unmarred skin of my left arm was going to be adding another pinprick to it's collection. Seriously...someone needs to grant that brave arm a medal. After a fervent cursing of H1N1 and all its relations, I mentally prepared myself for the oncoming ordeal by dragging a soothing stash of comfits with me. <= sixth!
After being forcibly strapped into the contraption which would transport me to my doom, I barely kept my sanity by serenading my cherished sibling with lullabies such as 'I hate you, I hate the world, I hate needles, I hate needles so much...'. He must be a little touched in the head because he didn't seem to appreciate my heavenly voice. Oh well. Not everyone has the ability to truly appreciate good music. <= seventh!
On arrival at the honourable quack's practice, did you know that thesaurus.com lists quack as a synonym for doctor? There go my deluded beliefs that calling someone a quack was offensive. Anyhow, upon arrival, I psyched myself out. While doing so, I stalked everyone I knew who had gotten the needle beforehands to see if it had caused any discomfort. Everyone kindly reassured me that it had not evoked any mortal agony, so thus my confidence was bolstered.
..or not. I hate it when people tell me it's nothing to worry about. It then convinces me that there's something to stress over. Then my muscles tense. So when I actually get the needle, it actually does hurt. Then I go 'OMG IT DID SO HURT, WHAT KIND OF NERVELESS BEAST ARE YOU???' to everyone who told me it didn't hurt. Then they either call me a sissy or look at me as if I'm insane, which I'm obviously not. <= eighth!
It is because of extremely hurtful experiences like this that I bring along private solace to soothe my bleeding wounds. Thanks to these careful preparations, I now never have to bear another one of those harangues about how when even mere infants do not sniffle in the face of a needle, I go off into a melodramatic bawling fit. I'll never have to go through another censure over my overtly-sensitive nerves. I'll never have to endure another taunt over my extremely pitiful lack of Moxie. Ever! <= ninth!
...now, if there was only a way to prevent rebukes on how my solace pack contains the small amount of thirty lollipops, shepherd's pie, two kilo boulders of chocolate, sherbet fountains, liquorice sticks, candied rose petals, new plushies, fresh bananas, raw eggs, amythst stones, decadent truffles and cartons of chocolate milk. Oh well. Life's never perfect! <= tenth!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I totally love you diary. Really.
Alice.
P.S. Most of the above was fiction, because I didn't want online creepy peoples to actually know the going ons of my days. But it's true that I take a lollipop along to most vaccinations. Though the H1N1 one didn't hurt. Much. :]
P.P.S. I WROTE MORE THAN TEN PARAGRAPHS. THAT'S RIGHT ELENA, I PERFORMED MY DUTY AND WENT BEYOND THE SPECIFICATIONS.
...you owe me more stories. (:
P.P.P.S. As per usual, I didn't bother proofreading. If you find any of those blots upon nature ( also known as spelling + grammar errors, tell me because I'm really annoyingly pedantic. )
