An explanation you won't like.

It's time to talk about the dreaded Tuesdy. Last Tuesday, in case your brain has gone stale. Last Tuesday was the first day of my senior year of high school. And it did not go well. But first, the backstory.

Last school year, junior year, was difficult. Towards the end, it was all I could do to not throw myself in front of a moving bus/train/komodo dragon. Summer came, and there were times where I wanted to jump out of the car, while it was going at highway speed. Everyone's got thoughts like that, I guess.

Now onto Tuesday. I got to school. I had Math first period. I am completely stupid as a whole, but in math I think I'm downright retarded. I just kinda shrugged it off, though, because Math sucks. After that was Band, which of course is a nightmare because I cannot play any of the music I am given. I shrugged that off, too, because I guessed that I just needed to get back into the swing of things before I'd play better. Next was Honors British Literature *shudders*. My teacher is also one of our Disciplinary Deans. He gave us a test on our summer reading, which I hadn't had a chance to finish. I failed that test. The penalty for failing the test is that we would be kicked out of the class. It worried me greatly. The only decent thing about the day was that the last class of the day, Global Studies, is taught by my favorite teacher. Of course, the class is filled with a bunch of loud people that are disrespectful. I really can't stand that.

So I went on my merry way, drove home and whatnot. I thought about driving my car into a pole. But I didn't want to cause traffic on the Beltway. I came to a stop sign and didn't stop where I was supposed to and almost got hit by a car, and stopped and thought, "Damn it, I missed my chance." Then, I felt bad because if I'd not stopped, the people in the other car would've been dead, as well as me, and that wouldn't be cool. So then I went home. I had a headache. I poured maybe fifteen pills into my hand. I only took three of them. I went up to my room and cried very hard for the rest of the night. Then I took a shower. And pulled out my trusty friend, Mr. Razor. And well, you can kind of guess how things went from there.

I didn't take that as a sign that quitting my habit would never happen. I took it as a slight relapse that could easily be overcome. I kept going with my life. The weekend came, and I went to work. Saturday was just a big rainy mess, which was fine with me because no one showed up. Sunday was busy and I just kinda snapped. I took a small break, and went into the back closet. I needed something sharp very badly. All I had was a safety pin. It sufficed. I thought about asking a co-worker for a cigarette. I don't smoke, but God knows that I probably would if I was stressed enough. I didn't ask him for one right then, but I decided that if next weekend was really bad, I would ask him for one at that time.

Today is proving to be a repeat of Tuesday. Bubbles is being very short with me. Although judging from the fact that she probably read that post I did about her (And again, I'm sorry), she has every right to be. I just wish she'd yell and get angry instead of being short. I can take long flows of words. I can't stand one-word answers. And school was, naturally, a nightmare. So we'll see how tonight goes. I've already had a good serving or so of alcohol, which lasted maybe an hour this afternoon, so I don't know how the rest of the evening will go.

Peace, love, and gin.

Catnip