Everybody, let us just clarify that I am not a stupid person. I may not have much of a brain to brag about, truly, but I am not a stupid person by any means. In fact, I feel myself intelligent enough to hold a conversation with at the least. I find that this, however, is no excuse for my poor grades. I've given up on trying to get my B's to A's. I couldn't possibly manage. I'm not even going to study. I'm going to just take the hit. It's too late. Shoot me, go on, I'm not looking. There was a weird moment today in 2nd where someone in my group was being sassy and i got so mad i started to laugh, and then to my UTTER EMBARASSMENT i started to cry!!! I was MORTIFIED! And the worst part was that I couldn't stop! I just kept laughing and crying and everyone was like "Oh-Em-Gee, what a freak." I felt like a "freak." I did. I found myself later today standing in line at the Braelinn Kroger with two huge bars of chocolate clutched in my gloved hands, my feet spread firmly shoulder width apart on the floor and bags full of crap for Christmas on my arms. I looked at the man to my right and then to the woman with the toddlers to my left and I swear all I wanted at that moment was to punch someone. I can't explain it, I just felt like maybe knocking that obviously rich guy down would make me feel better about the stupid holidays. I didn't do it, of course. I paid for my chocolate and left, vaguely following a stench of guilty air that laughed at me because I'd overspent my budget with that last Hershey's that wasn't even for me, feeling stupid that I could spend fifty dollars on Lauren and Sarah apiece and only up to thirty five for my own father. And even that was a gift card. It made me angry how all Sarah could think of to say in the way of comforting words was "Eh, they'll understand." I work every day this week from five to nine except for thursday, monday, and sunday, meaning I should make eighty dollars if mom doesn't make me go to fashion team practice or runway class. Eighty dollars should be enough to buy something my little brother will like, something my father will read, something my mother could use, and something my grandfather, whom I love and respect the most out of all my outer ring of relatives, will appreciate, shouldn't it? I ripped up the back of my special golden stilletos at fashion team practice. I'm so pissed I could shit fire. My fingers are frozen, and I'm inside. NOBODY even remembered to get me anything, despite the fact that I got them something. I still need kahki pants and black slacks and LA is fucking three weeks away. JESUS H. CHRIST. (and what in the hell does the "h" stand for anyways?! Hamburger?? Holy??? Hooker????????)