Désespoir

I can't escape. This world is eating my oxygen.

Câlin

Donnez-moi quelque chose de tenir.

Bleh

What can go wrong will go wrong.

My laptop now has no wireless internet. My poor crippled laptop suffered a fall from a stupid unstable desk this afternoon and is now ethernet-dependent and confined to the room. Fortunately, I bring an USB with me everywhere and was able to submit my Writing paper on time this evening on a library computer. Unfortunately, I have been hovering over my poor laptop for the whole evening like a worried mother hen. I even took my laptop apart twice (removed my hard drive, keyboard, everything) to make sure the WLAN card wasn't damaged.

To make things more complicated, I ended up ditching the IV Freshmen retreat I paid 20 dollars to attend this evening. My excuse is that I don't think I can survive without wireless internet (pathetic, I know) and that I cannot stay overnight because the tech center at Duke opens at noon on Saturday. But to be honest, I feel like I'm not going because it's one of those days where I just don't want to deal with Christianity and feel like an imposter.

On the plus side, I had a good phone call with Gov. J. Sigh. It's one of those days where I miss high school. I can't believe I just said that.

Loneliness.

Sigh

How disappointing.

Above the Clouds

She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she's left behind
It's all about the exposure the lens I told her
The angels were all wrong now
She's ripping wings off of butterflies
...
Her prince finally came to save her
And the rest you can figure out
But it was a trick
And the clock struck 12
Well make sure to build your house brick by boring brick
or the wolves gonna blow it down

-- "Brick by Boring Brick" by Paramore

Perhaps the best (or worst) thing about being buried alive is that the last thing on your mind is whether or not you're going to die an old maid.

I'm in my room sitting in a daze like a natural disaster survivor. I was planning to write something witty or cool but I can't shake off the nagging voice in my head telling me I should start writing my final paper and chemistry had such a pleasant morning sipping my brain juices like a zombified Edward Cullen and so my work ethic has completely gone kaput.

Adieu, adieu.

Labyrinth

Hiatus

I'm noticing that my resolve to write non-personal issues on this blog has completely dissolved. But I don't care.

I HATE THIS WEEK. AND I'M GOING TO HATE NEXT WEEK EVEN MORE.

This has been a horrifically terrible week, and it doesn't look like things are going to get better anytime soon.

On hiatus for the next two weeks unless I'm ranting and venting again. Good-bye.

Bane of My Existence

"Part of the art of mathematics lies in pausing for a moment to find an elegant way to solve a problem rather than rushing in headlong with brute force methods."

-- From my calculus book

pause.

AGHH.

---------------
Plug
I just had to share that I've been distracted from my studying for the last hour thanks to this site:

http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/

This is the first time I've had some good laughs from reading other people's writing. I always respect these kind of cynically funny writers, because every time I try to write posts in that style, I tend to lose patience or sound painfully disillusioned.

Tickle me Emo

I've been associated with many adjectives over the course of my brief 18-year-old life. Quiet, shy, weird, funny, witty, tan, pretty, ugly, insane -- and most recently -- badass. But the one that's most closely associated with my blogs -- be it Xanga or blogspot -- is the dreaded three-letter word.

Yes. The one that evokes images of bleeding hearts, black roses, black eyeliner, tight skinny jeans, and lyrical whining with guitar accompaniment. The one that, ironically, is a mere letter away from sharing the same name as a certain beloved furry red resident of Sesame Street.

And to be fair, it would be only too easy to pigeonhole me as "emo." For goodness sake, the freaking title of this blog is "Heart & Crossbones." How much more proof do you need, other than the perpetually black background of this blog?

What I find interesting is the negative connotation that "emo" has. When people call me emo, it usually has that Malfoy-esque intonation. "You're so emo." Translation: "You're so 2005." (For the record, the last two times this has happened has been by the same person -- a certain "elder brother" of mine who has never hesitated to make fun of me and whom I never hesitate to bully either -- so let's just call it even.)

But do I consider myself emo? That depends on your definition. Do I wear black eyeliner everywhere? (No.) Do my bangs cover three-fifths of my face? (No.) Do I wear jeans that cling onto my legs like tights? (Hell no.) But I am drawn to tragedy; I am drawn to the idea of figuratively less-than-functioning hearts, whether bleeding or broken; and I love the sound of the guitar. So what's the answer?

Physically, I don't look ANYTHING like your typical emo kid who takes pictures of herself at a camera angle that allows one's head to cover approximately 80 percent of the picture. I'm actually a little curious as to what kind of image my blog conjurs in the minds of those who stumble upon my blog and have no clue as to what I look like. Granted, I do have my melodramatic moments. But really, would an emo kid write a post about how people call her emo? Would an emo kid really spend more than two hours writing a post that completely bludgeoned Snow White and the Seven Dwarves? (To be honest, I don't think anyone sane would do so either.)

This post is vaguely starting to remind of me the time when I defended my nerdiness. So let's just embrace it.

I AM AN EMO NERD!!!!! :D

Or maybe not.

Snapshot 7 - Emo

I'm back in the city. My teaching days are over, and I miss them terribly.

Yesterday was the last day of class. My groupmates joke about how all the kids love me. I'm not so sure about that, but I can say that I probably received the most cards and gifts out of the remaining five of us teachers. (Apple had to leave the island, due to a very serious injury that I may perhaps explain another day.) Two of my students, Eva and Angel, bought me the cutest teddy bears as a farewell gift. The funny thing is, the teddy bears actually remind me of them -- Angel's is cute and refined while Eva's is rougher and more wild-looking. A bunch of others wrote me cards -- I even received cards from students that weren't even in my class.

Just a note -- all the things I received were from girls. I suppose I get along really well with the girls. Pear is probably the guys' favorite -- and everyone likes to make fun of Banana, which is probably my fault, since I purposely make fun of him during class. It keeps the kids laughing and it keeps the two of us in good spirits. Fortunately, he has a good sense of humor and takes all the abuse in stride.

This coming week, I'll be on a tour with some of the other 300 people in this program. I'll at least still be able to hang out with my kickass groupmates, and I'm excited about being able to catch up with my ex-roommates.

But I miss the kids so much. I miss how they'd always cling to my arm, how they'd hold my hand when we walked around the school, how they'd laugh whenever Banana and I made fun of each other during class, how they'd sit around my laptop amazed by my Minesweeper skills, how they chased after me during P.E. and were wowed by how fast I ran, how they would touch my earrings everyday in admiration. It makes me so sad to think about the very probable fact that I may never see them again.

Honnêteté

X: Si vous saviez que votre compagnon ne veut pas sortir avec vous, est-ce que vous voudriez sortir encore avec lui?
O: Si je le veux, si je sais que je veux cela tellement -- oui, bien sur.

La question est stupide. La reponse est ridiculement simple. Je suis folle.

Aujourd'hui, c'est le deuxieme fois. Je n'apprends jamais.

...

OMFG SOMEBODY SHOOT ME NOW.

...

I am:
- chronically depressed
- pissed
- angry
- and irritated at a certain person who has tormented me to no end
- stressed out by the bullshit that was suddenly dumped on me this afternoon
- disgusted by the superficiality of a certain group of people
- ugly
- fat
- questioning the concept of beauty
- apathetic towards AP Chemistry
- sad
- bitter
- and disappointed that a certain person has chosen to hang out with others over spending the evening with the people who have been by this person's side for nearly their entire lives thus far (and I've been by this person's side for nine years)
- sick of this
- sick of the world
- a pathological liar

...

everything i've said is a lie
but everything i've written is true.

...

"Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness. "

"I love French wine, like I love the French language. I have sampled every language, French is my favorite. Fantastic language. Especially to curse with. Nom de dieu de putain de bordel de merde de saloperie de connard d'enculé de ta mère. It's like wiping your arse with silk. I love it. "

-- Matrix Reloaded (terrible film, great quotes)

F.M.L.

Why did I sign up for 4 AP tests in my senior year?

Why does my chem grade keep plummeting like the stock market?

Why did I get such a crummy grade on the free response section of our final today?

Why can't we just not have classes when AP tests are going on?

Why do I still have to go to zero period sculpture at 7 am when I have to take my AP Stats test in the afternoon?

Why do I not understand Macroeconomics at all?

Why did I get such a crummy grade on the multiple choice section of our Econ test today?

Why do we even have tests at this point in the year?

Why does my AP Lit teacher seem to completely ignore the fact that our AP test is this Thursday, and instead of reviewing she talks about how our Invisible Man essay is due in two weeks?

Why can't we just graduate once we find out where we're going for college, since California's budget deficit is so bad anyway?

WHY?

They tell you to ask questions in school. Then they tell you that you're not asking the right ones.

Mad World

To tell you the truth, I was writing another post with a Pro/Con list for Duke and UC Berkeley. But then I broke down and couldn't write it anymore.

You may recall that I was initially very excited about Duke. That excitement very quickly frittered away when I realized that my father was very against Duke and wanted me to go to Cal. I was suddenly faced with the realization that our family cannot afford 200k to send me through four years of Duke, not to mention the fact that my father feels the only thing Duke is good for is basketball.

My mother, on the other hand, has been very supportive. She understands why I prefer Duke to Cal, and she has been collecting a lot of advice and information from family and friends these past few weeks. However, this afternoon she came into my room to tell me about an acquaintance of ours whose daughter did pre-med at Cal and is going to UC Davis for med school. Perhaps she didn't mean it to come off that way, but I interpreted it as her way of hinting that my argument that Duke is better for pre-meds has been effectively shot down.

She also keeps stressing that I need to have a conversation with my father. I am reluctant to do so on many different levels. (I keep telling myself that I can put this off until after I visit Duke next week.) My relationship with my father is minimal -- if we lived in The Sims, our relationship bar would be in the lukewarm 30s. I don't know how to talk to him, and I don't know what to say. His mind seems to have already been set in concrete -- not once has he indicated any interest in Duke. My mother is the one looking up Duke on Wikipedia and calling up old friends whose children attend Duke. I have never seen my father do anything even close to that.

All of the logical, practical arguments make sense. Cal is cheaper, and so the money that would have been spent at Duke could be used for graduate or medical school. Why spend 200k on the undergraduate university, when I intend to go to graduate or medical school in the future?

At this point, I am trying to convince myself to go to Cal. I don't want to burden my parents with 50k a year on top of the possibility of med school tuition. I don't want to fight with my father.

But at the same time, Cal is not what I have been dreaming of. Ever since I entered high school, I dreamed of getting out of this valley. Our family rarely travels -- I have only been to two other countries other than the United States, and plus, I cannot say I really visited the United States either. Other than good old California, I have merely driven through Oregon and Washington on the way to Canada, was born in Illinois (thus possessing absolutely no recollection of the place), and visited Hawaii when I was two (likewise). I have a severe case of wanderlust that cannot thrive in these economic times.

When I was writing my lists, it dawned on me that if it weren't for money, I wouldn't even be thinking twice (unless my father was STILL insistent on Cal). To be fair, I have not visited Duke yet, so for all I know, I may end up absolutely hating the place. But many times, I've wondered -- if I had gotten into Harvard, Yale, or Princeton, would I even be having this dilemna? Then again, if I had gotten into HYP, would I be pressured to go just because they're HYP?

This is one of those days when life feels so empty. Why is everything driven by money? We live and die for pieces of inked paper that represent gold that our country doesn't even possess. I've been born, bred, and raised to live in this system, and I can't even see what's the point. Is the point to be the most successful in the system -- the billionaire CEO or the world-famous lawyer? Or to transcend the system, whether through pure science or art? This world is mad, and we aren't any better.

How I Feel Today

Self-explanatory.

Apocalypse

These days, I feel like a death row inmate enjoying her last meal before execution.

Thus far, I have received 3 acceptances and 1 rejection (which happened back in December -- and for the record, I have completely gotten over it). Still waiting on 7 more schools -- 3 of which are pretty much lottery tickets that I doubt I'll cash in on, 2 private schools on the East Coast that I really hope to attend, and 2 UCs that I would not mind attending.

Recently, I've gotten into the habit of reading the forums on College Confidential. I don't think it's the healthiest habit to do, but I can't help it. In truth, I am getting very worried about UCLA. G has been getting all these letters and e-mails from UCLA and I have not received anything other than a phone call from months ago telling me to apply for the alumni scholarship. I've heard that there were plenty of people last year who got into Cal but not UCLA -- but that's hardly any consolation, because UCLA decisions come out before Cal. I doubt I'd feel very good about my chances at Cal if I am rejected at UCLA.

And it's not really that I am dying to go to UCLA or Cal. I really want to get into Cal because my father really wants me to go to that school and I have a lot of friends there -- but if I get into my east coast schools, chances are I'm heading east.

I hate all this waiting. It just gives me weird dreams.

Two nights ago, I had a dream I had to go to a Harvard interview. They had sent me an e-mail, but I ignored it for a about a week before deciding to go visit the interviewer because I was bored. Instead of meeting at some strictly business location like Microsoft, I was given the address to a really luxurious mansion with an ivy-covered iron gate and Greek marble columns. The gate opened for me and I walked inside the reception room, which resembled a hospital waiting room. There were a ton of people in there, all very beautiful and model-like with unproportionally long legs and slim torsos. For some reason, I knew exactly where I was going. I walked the gigantic spiral staircase and down one of the halls on the third floor. The whole place seemed eerily glamorous, with beautiful people dressed in exotic garments everywhere I looked. Finally, I reached one room with double doors, and without even knocking, I opened the door and walked into a master bedroom. I started admiring all of the artful decor that breathed of luxury until an elderly yet youthfully childlike woman greeted me and asked why I was here. I explained the circumstances, and then she started shaking the sleeping figure in the bed awake. The sleeping figure roared and threw off the sheets before suddenly transforming from an elderly man to someone I would not be surprised to see gracing a Dior Homme advertisement in my mother's fashion magazines. He yelled at me for not responding to his e-mails and then shoved me down the stairs and out the door before slamming the gates.

Good sign? I think not.

Claustrophobia

The world is closing in on me.

I am so damn depressed today. I can't do anything right.

J. Jett

I wish I was Joan Jett.

Or at least was skinny like her. I can't believe Kristen Stewart, aka Bella from Twilight, is going to play Joan Jett in The Runaways. Ick.

I've noticed my posts on this blog are getting less and less creative. Just look at all the posts from 2007. Granted, I didn't write nearly as often, but every post back then was either a poem, a vignette, or some really deep blurb.

Now compare with my last couple of posts. I talk about movies and arrests and a bunch of other hooplah.

This is very disheartening. Excuse me, I think I'm going to go into a corner and cry.

kuroi namida

I think it was Friday when G mentioned her prophetic dream. She asked if I had ever had a prophetic dream. I said I didn't think so, considering how ridiculous my dreams tend to be. Other than being rejected at Stanford -- and even that one was filled with surreal incidents that never occurred -- I don't think anything I've ever dreamt became a reality. Rather, my dreams are prophetic in the way that they will never happen.

When I woke up Friday morning, I felt good. I couldn't remember what happened in the first dream; I could only remember who was in it, but I knew something good had happened. The second was one of those recurring dreams I have fairly often -- any dream analyst would say it's some unfinished business I've never taken care of, but I already know that I will probably never take care of it in the end.

As it turns out, I had an epiphany that day. Contrary to whatever the dream may have predicted, it was not a pleasant awakening. It wasn't even as if something outrageous had happened. It's something that has happened over a hundred times, but for some reason it meant more that day than it ever did before.

I have spent some time thinking, and I have decided I am going to take a break from writing on this blog. There are many reasons that have led me to this decision. The first is a practical reason -- even now, I still receive reviews for EP asking when I am going to update. Recently, I read Stephen King's On Writing and realized that all I am really doing is burying my head in the sand because I don't want to face the numerous problems with EP. But after reading the last review I received (from Essie), it occurred to me that there are others who are still in love with it even though I have nearly left it for dead. Somehow, I feel as if I cannot let those people down. Until I update EP, I will not update this blog.

The other reason it entirely selfish. Hello Mr. Salt. This is Open Wound. Have you two met before?

Damn it, I want the godforsaken wound to heal. I don't want to prod and poke anymore. I have overanalyzed everything to death. What I realized on Friday opened my eyes. Look, you silly thing. You overanalyze ever single mindless gesture into something enormous. And in the end, none of it ever meant anything. You've been rubbing salt into your wound for the last two years, maybe because you were hoping something beautiful arises from the pain. Alright, maybe it does. But I don't want to do this anymore.

I'm done.

Catharsis and Purging

I.

Hello my name is Sophelia. Do you see this brand on my forehead? It says "Reject." That's right -- look at those six letters. It's just six etches and scratches that can amount to something colossal.

I don't understand why they bother making the rejection letter so clean and flowery. Is that supposed to make me feel better? I don't want that beautifully crafted bullshit. Pick a weapon. I don't care -- an axe, a knife, an ice pick. Why don't you just show me some mercy and finish me off? That's right, Sophelia. Your essay was terrible; it was obvious your teachers think you're a cold, uninterested, withering, pathetic excuse for a student. Even my grandmother could surpass you in your lackluster extracurriculars. 4.0 GPA? Yeah, you're one of 2,700. Special, huh? The truth is, you would disgrace our fine institution. So thanks for the application fee, and good luck with the rest of your life. With luck, you'll be rinsing out the toilet bowls at our fine institution in the future.

II.

But really, why does it all matter? Because it doesn't. Why did I apply in the first place? Why did I apply to the summer program in the first place? Did I rationalize with myself, convincing myself that I love the school? I still remember that right at the beginning, back when my mother wanted me to apply to the summer program, I was thinking that Stanford was too close to home. Eight weeks later, I started saying that I was reluctant to leave California because I love the weather. Which I do. But was I trying to justify everything in order to please people? In the end, did I just go in a full circle as I tried to appease others?

I don't know the answer to any of these questions.

And it is ridiculous for me to compare myself to my fellow classmates. My goodness, we are people just like anyone else sane and not suffering from application anxiety in the world. It is impossible to compare people -- "Oh, my mom is better than yours." Why do we still insist that someone is "better" than someone else? And even though I know this, I still catch myself in the trap of comparing myself to the others -- "No way. How come HE didn't get rejected?"

My mother, while she was trying to console me, said that when she visited one of the temples in Tainan, the people there (who do a lot of fortune-telling and horroscope stuff) said that she was told that if I wanted to study at the best university for me, I would have to travel far away from home. I really don't know what to feel about this. First of all, I already know that the effectiveness of a fortune depends on how creatively one can interpret it to match his/her circumstances. I could easily interpret this as, "Oh, it wasn't written in my fate." But what fate? I'm descended from ancestors who believe that all things happen for a reason -- I was not accepted because my future awaits me on the east coast. Plus, now that I have been rejected, moving to the east coast suddenly doesn't look so bad. Again, is it just another example of justifying everything to make things right?

III.

I spent nearly three hours talking to Storm. I was feeling like shit, and for some reason, I impulsively turned to him. I've never understood why we can talk so liberally with each other -- even back when I was still in middle school and he was in high school, we talked about stuff I rarely told any of my own friends at school. And even today, when I rarely see him and we have almost nothing in common, I told Storm about the rejection and he told me about his new lady with relative ease. I don't know. Really.

The past is past. To the me currently sitting here at 2:30 am, Storm is the older brother I have idly wished for in the briefest of daydreams.

IV.

I remember writing about how strong Sandra carred herself after her second attempt with in vitro failed.

I must do the same.

I need to rest this weekend, for I am emotionally exhausted. But come Monday, like Sandra, I will march forth with life. Que sera sera. It is not the end of everything. It is only the beginning.

[To those of you lucky enough to read this and know what happened: I would greatly appreciate it if you did not spread this around freely, because nobody likes having everyone know you've been turned down. And I would also greatly appreciate it if you don't share this post with others -- otherwise, I will shut this site down if I notice more and more people are reading these presentations.]

Day & Night

[Day Write]

Late Sunday night, I worked frantically to finish all the homework I had put off to the last minute. As usual. I don't know if my work ethic has taken a slip (as my French teacher has suggested, to my horror and dismay), but it seems that I've gotten into a regular pattern of goofing off the entire day on Saturday and paying the price late Sunday night.

On second thought, I actually did get some things accomplished on Saturday. I finished filling out most of the UC applications; the only thing left is the two essays. If I wasn't such a masochist, I would probably just edit the two essays I wrote last year, but most likely I will end up writing two completely different essays. Frankly, I am not looking forward to those essays at all. I am sick of writing about my weaknesses, my worries, my growth, etc. The UC essays tend to be very straightforward and avert from creative writing. Unfortunately, the only thing I feel like writing now has nothing to do with myself and my self-reflections. Ick.

So where was I? Oh, right. So I was doing my French homework with Sick Puppies' "All the Same" music video playing on Youtube. I was a little bit curious about the band, so I went on Wikipedia and looked them up. Their story is a little interesting, I must say. Vocalist/guiarist Shimon Moore met kickass bassist Emma Anzai in high school and together they co-founded the band. The band has been together for about 11 years now, and even though they've switched through bandmates over the course of years, Shimon and Emma have always stuck together. Not in the romantic sense, but as very close in an almost sibling sense.

So while I was reading their profiles, something struck me. I ended up reading some of their interviews, and it only got me thinking even more. I don't want to reveal what gripped my attention, but I will say that it sparked a pretty awesome idea in my head.

The funny thing about inspiration is that it never comes to you in the same way each time. The idea for EP took many years to take form -- basically it was a bunch of small ideas that collected into one mass over time. With the other long-term piece I have been working on (HTSAH), the idea came up suddenly one day, but initially I left it untouched because I wanted to focus on other things.

But THIS, my friends, was the kind of inspiration that slaps you in the face. I am so psyched about it that I just want to submit myself completely to senioritis and stay at home for the rest of the week.

Just kidding.
------------------------
[Night Write]

So I just ended my high school team tennis career in one of the most regretful, disappointing ways possible.

For some reason, I've been the deciding match for four very momentuous games this season. Personally, I think it's a sign that our team is much weaker this year, but of course I'm not going to say that to my teammates.

So in the end, it came down to two matches: Y's close three-setter and my close three-setter. Y played a good match and it was unfortunate she eventually lost. So basically, the score became tied at 3-3, and once again, I was the deciding match. But in all honesty, my match should never have gone to a third set. I was up the first set 5-2. I don't know what happened. I might have gotten overconfident, lost complete focus, or my out-of-shape fitness began to kick in. Possibly all three, for I ended up losing the set 5-7.

My coach talked to me in the break between the first and second set, so I managed to clear my head. Unfortunately, I think the 7-5 comeack from behind boosted my opponent's spirits immensely. After that first set, the rest of the match was brutally close. That girl lobbed me like none other. Plus, I was fairly fatigued, and the last thing I wanted was to engage in a lob war. Basically, I kept trying to keep the points short, which ultimately resulted in many risky plays. It payed off in the second set though, which I ended up winning 6-3.

By the time we started the third set, the sun had almost set completely. I would play brilliantly for awhile and then lapse into a completely unfocused mess. I was actually winning 3-0 until their sly little coach decided to call for line judges. When my coach informed me that my opponent had called for line judges, I was pretty surprised, because I hadn't made any close calls and she hadn't questioned any of my calls at all.

AS IT TURNS OUT, SHE WASN'T EVEN THE ONE WHO WANTED THE JUDGE! My mother told me later that I had hit this serve that my opponent didn't even touch. Apparently, the serve was out -- but the girl didn't even call it! THE COACH DIDN'T LIKE IT (because obviously, I'm winning by a big margin) SO SHE CALLED THE JUDGES AND TOLD ME THAT "HER PLAYER" HAD CALLED FOR THE LINE JUDGES. I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses, but what she did really halted my momentum. I ended up losing the next three games to tie it at 3-3. The score eventually reached 6-6. I had been winning 6-5, but by then it was so dark that I could barely see the ball. Maybe I should have requested to move to a court with lights then, but at the time I didn't think I had a choice. And since the girl was serving at that point, she had the advantage and ended up tying the score to 6-6.

Well what do you know? That's when the coach informs us that there is an available lighted court approximately a mile away where we can finish our match. Really, how convenient you decide to do this AFTER YOUR PLAYER'S SERVICE GAME!

Long story short, I played a not-so-good tiebreaker and lost the final set 6-7, and thus my team did not advance past the first round of CCS Teams for the first time in my high school tennis career. And yes, my last match on the tennis team turned out to be an epic three-setter that lasted over three hours and left my legs quivering like jelly. But honestly, I do not feel proud of that match at all.

All in all, I am really disappointed in how I failed my team twice as the deciding match -- when we lost to PIedmont Hills -- the first time as far as anyone on the team can remember that the girls' tennis team lost a match in the league -- and tonight. Unlike the loss to PH, I did not cry today. I am too exhausted to maintain feeling pissed at myself.

Maybe I should just stay home for the rest of the week.

Just kidding.