Stop writing about how un-sad you are or how un-hard French is as obviously the second such ridiculous claims are released unto the World of Internetness the the universe will begin conspiring to show you what an asshole you are and suddenly it will be everywhere with the dewiness and the bad accents.
I suppose it serves me right. This was a long weekend. Most of it was great, but even while the greatness was happening, it kind of felt like it was all taking place under water, and generally sort of sucking away my will to live.
Perhaps that was a titch dramatic.
It started Friday night, when I took both myself and my cockly little attitude to French class, where after about 15 minutes I wanted to shoot myself in Le Face. (Is it any wonder I’m having trouble learning French? When I’m having so many difficulties with ENGLISH? Is any part of that sentence grammatically correct? But then, does any part of me care?) Friday was an off night for me. When I mentioned before how excited I was about learning the past tense (I hesitate to admit this, but I believe the phrase ‘whole new world of grammar’ may have actually been used in conversation with
people who used to admit to being my friends) I didn’t fully realize the ramifications of learning a second tense. It turns out that the ramifications (ramification? Really in this instance there is only just the one…) of learning the past tense are (is?) that I completely forget THE PRESENT TENSE.
Dear People of Cameroon,
Please do not ever ask me what I am doing, for I cannot tell you. However, if you come back in 15 minutes, I’ll be glad to tell you what I’ve done.
Saturday passed without much in the way of mishaps, except for that part where I CRASHED THROUGH DR. JONES’ SCREEN DOOR, THEREBY REMOVING IT ENTIRELY FROM IT’S TRACK WITH MY HEAD. Luckily the triumphant act was only witnessed by EVERYONE I KNOW. Although I was told later that the fact that I caught the door before it hit the ground really gave the performance a little something extra. I would love to claim that this special moment of awesomeness was brought on by the drink or perhaps a nice bit of cocaine, but no—my powers of grace are at their strongest when untainted by the scourge of alcohol.
Which brings us to Sunday, and coincidentally, the anniversary of my birth. (I suppose in truth there is nothing coincidental about those two things. I just think it makes for a nice a segue. Which was then totally ruined by this completely unnecessary interruption.) If judged solely on the basis of it’s contents, it would seem to be The Perfect Birthday. I was treated to a wonderful breakfast, I got to go to a perfectly delicious chic flick, I laid in the sun long enough to feel slightly toasted, and I ended the evening with take-out and a very comforting viewing of Say Anything. And yet the entire day I felt like placing the back of my hand on my forehead and whimpering. I was on the verge of dewiness all day, and people, that is too much even for me, a girl who owns Steel Magnolias AND Beaches and so obviously has a very high capacity for dew.
I think what is happening is this: In the WWF Battle of Emotions (the WWFBofE if you will) currently raging in my head, Excitement is clearly favored to win. But Sadness gets in a few good licks now and then and Confusion and his long-time partner Overwhelmed are both coming up steadily from behind. Yesterday in fact they knocked Excitement on his bony little ass. He is currently making a come-back, but he’s still feeling a little disoriented. Much like this metaphor. Luckily Dignity has never really entered the fray, so nobody feels too bad about it.