Monday, November 21
I was peeling an orange for dessert (after eating four cookies) and I was in extreme agony. From the cool weather, my hands are dry and I had open blisters and cuts along my cuticles and peeling an acidic, citrus fruit does not do them any good. Part of the orange was good. Part of it was more sour than Gilbert Gottfried's face.

And for you kids who cut yourself for attention or to see if you could "feel," fuck you, pain ain't no fun and it only gives you negative attention, if at all. I know it's only my fucking cuticles that got an acid bath this evening, but that cardboard, work-induced cut on my wrist a week ago was no sex orgy, man.

Could've asked my mom to take apart the orange for me, but seriously, only a fucking pussy would be sixteen years old and ask their mommy to peel an orange for them because the skin around their fingernails hurt. Unless the gashes were an inch long and bleeding like my menstrual week, then fuck yeah, of course I'd ask for some help. Fuck gloves, you can't feel your way into scalping the goddamn piece of produce.

Yeah, so that was the first piece of fruit I'd eaten in about a week. I'm getting my fiber, man.

For my afternoon snack I ate beef jerky that my mother finally bought home a few days ago, and for some brands they have nice, soft, tender strips and others have really hard and whiplashy strips of beef, and yet others are a mixture of smoked beef texture. Well the brand that she bought this time, Oberto, sucks balls and I almost cut myself on the face with a strip of beef jerky from whiplash of biting it, and then it ricocheting across my face when I was trying to pull the strip away from my mouth. My right cheek hurt almost to the point of walking in front of a mirror to check it out, but the pain soon went away so I just assumed it was nothing at all.

Another ricochet accident was when I once punched myself in the collarbone. I was pissed off one morning and was trying to get my tight sweater's sleeve pulled up so I could brush my teeth without getting it wet. Well the fucking sweater was really stubborn so I pulled extra hard on the sleeve, my hand slips, and ricochets into my collarbone. Hurt like fucking hell. And ironically enough, hitting a flattened, horizontal hand on one's collarbone is an equivalent of a raised middle finger, translating to "Fuck you."


Christina N. @ 7:56 PM