Soggy Disappointment

The last day of 2014.

I broke my morning fast on a disappointing bowl of soggy, overcooked dumplings.

But perhaps such is life meant to be. 2014 will go down in flames.

But 2015?

2015 will rise from the ashes on the wings of a phoenix.

Leggings, Sweet Leggings

So I ordered some leggings off of Ebay a while ago and when they came I was understandably pretty excited. I love ordering things off the net. It's like taking a gamble. Russian roulette, but instead of your life you're risking your credit card and your trust in faceless merchants hiding behind a computer screen somewhere halfway around the world (in this case, Shanghai, China). Will the order come, or will it get accidentally sent to the wrong address? Will it be some kind of cheap knockoff that looks nothing like the online photo? Will I get scammed, the sellers fiendishly rubbing their hands as they accept my money without sending their promised products like the loveless bastards they are? 

Who knows. Let's just focus on the fact that I was very happy when the package came. 

But as I fiddled around with the package I realized that it didn't have a folded opening I could tear to reveal its contents. It was just a flat brown stuffed little rectangle staring blankly at me, unable to comprehend the purpose of is existence and the fact that it might actually have to open after it has been received by the intended party. 

This is where the problem began.

"Well," I said to myself. "I guess I'll go get some scissors, then." And I did. 

I was careful about the whole thing, delicate as a lamb.

But as I peered closer at the opening I made, a deep sinking made itself apparent in my gut. It was something visceral. Something foul.

It turns out I had accidentally skimmed one of the leggings, the one decorated with hot air balloon prints, with my lamb-like scissor cut.

I was so sure to be gentle. To cut as shallow as possible. How was this possible? I was horrified.

It isn't such a big cut, I tried to tell myself, over and over. And it was true. It was only about a millimeter or two, so it shouldn't have been so bad, right? Right? 

But it plagued me. As I scratched away at my homework my thoughts constantly drifted back to mutilated velvety leggings with the cute hot air balloon print on it. How the hole was sitting there, mocking me from my dresser. How my leggings were ashamed of me, ashamed of itself, how it was haphazardly stuffed into the drawer like a fresh corpse that a murderer crammed in a body bag to hide the crime. 

Needless to say, I didn't get much work done.

There were too many doubts clouding my mind: Would that tiny hole really be okay? But leggings stretch, right? And that means the hole will stretch. It'll be noticeable. I can't believe I did that, I can't believe I just completely fucked over a brand new pair of leggings someone lovingly packed and shipped from some sweatshop in Shanghai. Wow. What is wrong with me. What the fuck is wrong with me. No wonder all my pets die early, I am an irresponsible piece of shit, I hope prison is comfortable because I am just going to grow up and become a degenerate, society's scum, the gum stuck to the bottom of people's shoes-

No. I had to snap myself out of it.

I decided to be proactive. I couldn't just wallow in my own misery. That would help no one, least of all my injured and weeping article of clothing.

And so I decided to use this generation's most accessible, expansive tool to aid me, the beginning of a grand adventure:

Things, I decided, were definitely looking up.

.........................................................................

EPILOGUE: 

Unfortunately, this sad tale closes with a sad ending. 

To put it concisely:

Google did not help me.

It made things worse.

And now my leggings are the aftermath of a bomb site.

School Naps

Today is an unremarkable Tuesday, but I think it's pretty important to record the mundane. The regular stuff. It makes the cool stuff sound cooler.

I'd describe my regular days as fairly tepid, with little to no emotional disturbance other than the frequent but mild irritation at having to constantly tie my laces, or gnawing worry that I might fart during my frequent naps in classes.

It's more of a profound paranoia that a simple point of concern, but usually the heaviness of my lids outweighs the anxiety of any potential flatulence that might bring embarrassment upon my person.

Oh yeah, here's something pretty weird - I burp a lot after I nap for long periods of time while bent over my desk. Maybe my breathing cycle gets interrupted and the gasses stirring in my lungs get all confused and migrate to my stomach, I don't know. It's just weird, okay? I have to do a whole bunch of these silent little burps as I rub the sleep out of my eyes and haul myself to my next class.

Does anyone else deal with this?

Maybe I'll google it.


I have googled it. And it is definitely a thing.

Hibernation

Today I did that thing where I laid my head against the pillow and said to myself, Ah yes, a short refresher. Fifteen minutes, at most-

-but ended up opening my crusty eyes about four hours later.

Those kind of naps pretty much slaughter your plans for the day. Motivation has been culled. Every chore or plan you made slowly recedes to insignificance under the unrelenting, hazy fog that fucks up your brain after The Great Hibernation.

It really bothers me how this huge chunk of your day is permanently lost for good. I could have saved a dog from getting run over from a car. I could have started my own franchise. Published a short story. Bought some stocks. In those four precious, wasted hours, I could have changed history.

Life is full of regrets, and I just added another one to the pile. 

Tumultuous Waters of Feminine Beauty

Ah. Well. I said I'd make an entry on my blog today, but I really, really wasn't in the mood to draw a comic. But today was a good day. I babysat a kid and hung out with Ilona, a real chummy chum of mine, and even put on nail polish for the first time since middle school.

It made me feel surprisingly good. Strong. Powerful. Powerful, yet refined.

But this newfound dignity conflicted with how subtly pissed I was about my inability to coat my nails without slathering the skin surrounding it within a five inch radius. Like, what the fuck buddy I'm trying to be a unfathomably jaw-dropping goddess here. I didn't depict too much of the embarrassment in the image above, but my nails are kind of a hot mess right now. Even while they are totally hot.

Thank goodness I didn't get the red nail polish, otherwise it'd look like I just eviscerated someone and swished my fingertips in the pool of blood bubbling from their navel.

Oh well. Practice makes perfect. And practice I shall.

Practice I shall.

Comic 3: Ungrateful Homework Leeches

Like wow was this kid raised in a barn or

Comic 2: Appreciating Beauty

Comic 1: Acceptance and Doubt