How about I tell you about my fucking day? Is that alright? Surely it is, after all, the title was only clickbait. Actually reading the rant that ensues is completely fucking optional.
So I was tardy a whole bunch of times because I have an assload of homework to do every day, a desire to have fun, and even less desire to sleep. As such, when I actually do get some sleep, it never fucking leaves. I barely get up at the sound of an alarm clock, and I feel like I have a hangover for the first fucking part of the morning. Long story short, I'm late to school. All the fucking time. And now this semester, THIS FUCKING SEMESTER, they decide to enact a tardy policy so that if I'm late to any class more than twice, I have to stay after for detention. So far, I've done an okay job forcing myself awake with cold showers, but lately they've just given me hypothermic sluggishness and I can't fucking get there on time. But it's alright, it's perfectly reasonable to assume that if you give the most disorganised fucking sleep-deprived sad sack who probably has some form of ADD from all the fucking shit he tries to force into what free time he has, two chances to be punctual and he doesn't do it, then the best punishment you can give to him is a disciplinary action he has to be punctual to even fucking receive.
I walked out to the busses, went home, realized what I did, and my dad drove me back. But we didn't just drive back immediately. My dad was on the phone for about half a minute, so I decided I would pour myself a glass of root beer to ease the stress when I got back. I would keep it in the refrigerator, and when I came back, the carbonation would be gone and I'd be able to enjoy its full deliciousness. So I was feeling pretty good when I got to school, I was ready to serve out my detention happily and comfortably, and I told him I'd call when I needed him to take me home. Only this fucking time, school decides to close early. I go in, literally every fucking office I get to is closed. The lights are turned off, the doors are locked, every teacher in the goddamn building is leaving. I run out to the front and scan the front drive and the parking lot, and my dad's car isn't in any of that fucking mess. Library lady walks out the fucking door, smiles at me and says, "Have a good night!" as she goes by to get in her fucking car and drive to wherever the fuck she lives. Yeah, I sure fucking will! What a goddamn ray of hope! What a nice fucking cherry on top of this fucking shit pie.
Now, I don't know if I've said this before, but I live out in the boonies, a good 3-3.5 miles away from school. It's not a particularly bad walk, I do it all the time in the summer.
In the Summer.
The doors to the school lock behind you when it's closed. There's no way I'm getting in there, and no way I could have gotten into a room or something and called my dad, and I'm sure as shit not going to email him on my chromebook and hope he sees it. I start walking home wearing just some normal fucking clothes, because I left my backpack and coat at home, because I didn't expect to be outside for more than a few seconds from building to vehicle. I'll be fine, though. Just some jeans with their knees torn out from a fall last summer, a normal hoodie and a thin fucking t-shirt that I wore because batman was on it. Nothing unusual. I usually walk out in the cold like this, but not for 3.5 fucking miles.
So I walk,
Through the Slush
And the Mud
And the deep, Freezing Puddles
And the Stench of Mud and Shit
At about mile 1.5, my limbs are sluggish, my ears ache, and I can't feel my feet or my hands. At mile 1.6, I've had about enough time to ruminate on how fucking shitty this is, and about all the inadequacies of my life and myself as a person, and I would have very much appreciated that no one fuck with my shit for the next 1.4 miles. No such luck. At mile 1.7, one of the fucking community stray cats hisses at me from up in a tree. Not one of the nice "My owner died/I'm a wandering outside cat" kind of strays, but the "I just showed up for no reason and now I own everything in my immediate vicinity and people try to make me love them" kind of strays. The especially assholish one that goes around scratching trees and pulling down apples leaves and apples. I can tell it's one of those freeloading, ankle-biting assholes because it's snow-melting season and it still manages to be such a fat globular pile of shit, and I can tell it's the tree one because it's black and orange and it was up in the fucking tree hissing at me. It knocks apples down from the trees sometimes because apple trees grow at some points in yards and on the sides of the roads, and everyone thinks that's just fucking adorable, but it isn't, it's just a rude little fuckface that everyone overfeeds with misplaced affection, despite the fact that it's an ungrateful bastard, and it likes knocking shit off trees because he/she's one of those asshole cats who just walk around knocking shit off high places. (and it's probably the reason why his old owner threw him/her out, or whatever the fuck happened to them if they weren't born wild in some storm drain like the twat they are).
So yeah, Fatass MacRottenpussy snarls at me from up in the tree and I just stop walking at that point. I mean, here I am, out in the cold, slowly freezing to death, I can't feel parts of my limbs, and goddammit, if this inbred, fat-headed, spoiled little shit really wants to go there, I'd be perfectly willing to oblige his/her fat ass. I just stood there, looked at it, and approached the tree, completely casually. I was daring that little shit to come down so I could teach it a lesson. That was literally my thought process, I can remember it going through my fucking head still. "I'm going to kill this thing. I'm going to freeze to death, but I'm killing it first. I'm going to freeze to death, and I'll drag this piece of shit to hell with me. Maybe I'll give it to Ryder whenever he gets down there too." It just stood there and hissed at me again, I took an empty mechanical pencil out of my pocket and threw it at the bastard, hit its jiggling lardulous side to what I presume was minimal effect, and it started coming down the tree, rowring like a motherfucker. So I picked up a stick, which was substantially bigger and heavier than a mechanical pencil, and verbally expressed my intention to murder it for warmth.
Unfortunately, what little intelligence that soulless hairy asswipe had forced him to realize that something bigger than you holding a stick and growling curse words is probably a bad thing, so it ran away. I didn't bother to go after it. It's righteous to kill an asshole cat when it's trying to hurt you, but you're the asshole if you kill a cat of any morality when it's running away from you. That's just not Bushido. What a shame, the birds and the bees could have lived for months off that thing, it had to be at least 14 pounds.
So yeah, I walked for a few more miles and eventually realized my hands and some of my arms were completely fucking numb. I started rubbing them together and eventually clawing at them just to try and stay warm/feel something. Eventually I pinched the back of my wrist, just because it was the most complex thing I had the motor skills to do at the time and I didn't want to lose the ability to do that too. I just walked there alternating hands and digging my fingernails into the back of my hands and wrists and lower forearms because I could vaguely feel it and I didn't want to lose all feeling in my fingers. I just felt like maybe they wouldn't succumb to frostbite or something if I kept using their full range of strength and motion at all times.
I did this until I felt this weird warmth on the back of my hands and realized I was bleeding, and that, even worse, I had literally done what all those detestable emo singers scream about, "cutting themselves just to feel something". Jesus Christ, I've reached a new low. First murderous rage and now emo stupidity!? I tucked my hands away into my pockets, even though they were freezing cold still (which was the reason I took my hands out of my pockets to begin with) and by the time I got home I was about ready to scream. I almost did scream when I saw the sight laid out in front of me: The car wasn't fucking there, my dad drove off to run some errands while I was in detention, the house was fucking locked, and he woouldn't likely come home until I called, since he knows that sometimes I stay until like 5:30-6:00 sometimes to get homework done. So there I was, stuck out in the cold, walking to the shop/warehouse in our yard and struggling to pull the big sliding warehouse door open with vaguely hook-shaped hands, since the door to the shop was locked too. After another round of fumbling getting the door closed, I headed inside, got to the shop, and called my dad to come home. Oh, and that soda I left in the fridge still tastes like a goddamn flaming cactus.
TL;DR: I almost bludgeoned a cat to death, I could hardly feel my hands at the time I started writing this, I now have an hour's detention tomorrow, I've been pretty much grounded for missing the first detention, and assuming you really did TL;DR, fuck you for not reading this rant properly. Burn in hell and stuff a rondel dagger in your urethra. Actually, don't do that, that's just frustration talking, I love you as a human being. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even posted this, I don't even know why I came to complain, it's not even a problem, really... I mean, there's starving children in Africa. I could have fed them the cat.
