What if I had a writing marathon and just kept writing and writing and writing. I’m going to host a blogathon and I will be the only participant thus I will be the winner and my self esteem will skyrocket. I would know because I’ve lived on this earth for 17 years and I know everything about how things work around here. 

Since I have nothing more to say, I’ll describe my day. I woke up at 7AM only to feel severe, almost unbearable pain in my left shoulder. I couldn’t move it at all and also I felt extreme cold. The feeling of cold frustrates me a lot because it is so uncomfortable to the point of humor and it is something that could totally be prevented if I were a little more prepared with proper winter attire. I heard weird, foreign voices upstairs and after a minute of trying to grasp understanding of the situation, I realized that I was at my friend’s house and that I was sleeping on her couch. I came home from watching a movie and eating cupcakes at my other friend’s house, but my parents were sleeping and not answering the phone and I forgot my key, so I just slept over at my friend’s house. The night before I only got 3 hours of sleep, so I was extremely exhausted and I fell asleep on my friend’s couch before she even brought my down a blanket and pajamas. At 7 when I woke up and was suffering from pain and cold, I deliriously asked my friend for a blanket and she handed over 2 out of the FOUR blankets she had. What a whor—-hoarder. Then I comfortably, in my skinny jeans and winter jacket, slept until 10. At 11, I walked home, once again battling the frigid winds of this brutal time of year called hell, I mean, winter, and when I got home, my dad was, surprisingly, in a really good mood. I showered quickly and my dad forced me to eat rice and soup for breakfast and then I went to school for newspaper. I swear, all the cool kids go to school on Saturdays. I did nothing at newspaper except I made an Instagram. I really don’t understand Instagram. 1. Filters are not pretty. 2. The pictures for the icons are not intuitive. So I still don’t know what all the buttons mean. 3. I have no idea what Instagram ‘etiquette’ is, so I have no idea what I’m doing. So far, I have posted one photo and followed a bunch of random school friends and liked almost every photo on my friend feed. 

After accomplishing too little, I went to Hannah’s house where my friends and I painted our nails and made cool designs while inhaling fumes from acetone and nail polish and rubbing alcohol. What’s that phrase again? Beauty is lung scarring. Beauty is fewer brain cells. Beauty is less mental capacity. Feminists probably hate nail polish. 

Then we met up with some newspaper boys, as in the boys on newspaper staff. They are all weird hormonal teenage boys (I’m not playing the cootie card. I’m telling the truth), but I like them for the most part because they are funny and entertaining. We ate breakfast foods and coffee even though it was 2PM (again?). I had french onion soup. It was mediocre. When I got home, my dad wanted to take us out to dinner because it was an only child night. I’m the only one in my family who won’t experience being an only child. My older sister experienced it for the 6 years before I was born and my little sister will experience it starting next year when I go to college. We went shopping for boots since I wanted boots that could support me in my walking to school adventures through mud and show and over mountains and valleys. Just kidding I just wanted boots. I experienced the most #overprivileged/spoiledkid problem while trying on boots. After an hour of trying on boots my forearms hurt so much from constantly trying to pull on boots that wouldn’t get on my foot easily. Why I still tried to put my foot inside the shoe still confuses me. 

My mom then started freaking out about my little sister who was supposed to come home from her trip at 8-9 ish. My little sister as usual didn’t contact my mother about what time she would be home, so my mom was really worried. When my little sister came home, she didn’t seem to notice any problems (she’s kinda oblivious), so, good for her, she averted an uncomfortable confrontation with parents. We rushed home since my mother was worried, only to be called by my little sister who told us that she wouldn’t be home until 11. Upon hearing this, my parents and I went out to dinner together. And that is the story of my wholesome Saturday.

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