You know when you wake up one fine morning to the incessant cawing of a crow, and you start to wonder if this is some parallel universe version of Professor McGonagall and you're not going to have to sit for this terrifying exam after all because you're meant to be studying in a school of magic?And when you find yourself still stuck in Muggle world after that, you'll know that you haven't made the cut to Hogwarts and things are only going to get weirdly nightmarish from hereon.
And it did. You see these are my final exams for post graduation. And it's super hard for me, because unlike my cousins I don't get nervous diarrhea when I am under pressure. I just soak it all in till I'm shaking with fists clenched in anger. It comes out of nowhere. At least if you have nd, you can hide your embarrassment behind closed doors (unless it's so bad you can't even shut the door in time...then you have my sympathies.
It doesn't help that my Professors are high on dope, which has to be the only explanation really, for the kind of papers they are setting us. It's a sick joke.
And then there's me. And how I spend my time.
You know when you see something really harmless on a social media site that has nothing to do with you? And then your head gets all kinds of bitchy on you, because you *deserve* negative publicity for yourself. It's so simple, that my head doesn't even get why I'm not bright enough to think fast enough to come up with convoluted ways of linking everything to me. So it does it for me instead.
OMG, she totally uploaded that picture of comfort food and booze because she knows I secretly crave for a drink when things are getting out of control, because that's how irresponsible I am. My motto: If things are getting beyond you, go ahead, contribute to anarchy.
And then my mind starts finding weird connections:
She's probably at Tom's house because he totally has a guitar and I can make out a guitar in the background and I was NOT invited.....to share comfort food and booze?! Why would Tom do that to me? Why?
Never mind that Tom is my under-age cousin who cannot under any circumstances drink at home...because my head won't even allow that as a plausible defence by then.
So I take a whole evening to get over Tom not inviting me to his stupid imaginary booze party, which I would not have attended anyway.
This either makes me a closet drama queen or a closet desperately-in-need-of-therapy candidate (whichever you like better).
PS. This is not a cry for help.
It's more of a "howl" and an "eet".