It is not okay to...

...draw on the desks in the library. Sad thing is, a student had to tell me that what I was doing was inappropriate. I figured the desk could use a Super Sayan Goku sketch. Oh well, the only reason I'm here is to work on my paper, and since investing the C- effort into this essay, I haven't been recording my thoughts. But MISERY persists in other, more obvious forms. Here they are:

1.) My Spectacles

The Bane

I've had these since sophomore year of high school. They weren't cool back then, and they are not cool now. Let's ignore the glaring detail that one of the lenses is not where it should be, but look at the sheer size of the frames. Hard to tell from the pic, but know that these glasses take up about 90 percent of my face. And since the lens won't stay put, I've MacGyver'd a tea bag string where the screw should be. Doesn't help much but it holds the lens in place until I get shocked and move really fast. So in other words, if there was a fire at my apartment, I'd be dead, because if I run, my lens falls out, I can't see and I burn to death. I hate these things. I hate these things.

2.) My Picture Perfect ID

MSP

I'm not gonna say I'm a good looking guy, but this picture does not do me justice. This is an ID necessary to shop at one of the local department stores, so when I requested one, the tart behind the counters says "3, 2, 1," and snaps a Dorothea Lange. Am I a serial killer? This looks like the only snapshot the FBI has of a bank robber responsible for a series of thefts along the East Coast. And what am I smiling about? Why do I looked like I just dove into a pool of cocaine? The glare you see on the picture isn't from my camera, and honestly, I don't know where it's from. It just haunts the photo like the hazy image of Ronald Reagan above the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. This picture sums up my misery.

3.) Amox-a-Something

Remnants of Strep

Since having strep, I've had to take these pills to kill the last of the germs. I'm not a picky pill popper. I don't need water or a life coach to swallow one. But what really lays eggs in my skin is that I can't drink alcohol until I finish the entire bottle. Now I'm not a big drinker. I'll chug if I want to, but it's not on the top of my list. But since having to go on medication, wouldn't you know, a million situations have come up where alcohol would have been perfect. Meet a girl at a bar? Nope. Accept free booze from a friend? Can't do that. How about we take shots for every stupid joke Pinhead makes in Hellraiser IV? Well, I'll be the son of a nun. No booze until it's done. And by that time, my good luck will have passed away.

4.) Movies About Submarines

Das Ass

If ever you find yourself strewn across the couch, gagging on mucus, and shouting lamentations out your ass, there is no greater kick to the man that is down than when he watches a sub movie. There are few things a sick man can do, and watching movies is something that can alleviate the strain of a sore throat. But sub movies come in terrible packages, disguised as entertainment. Two words to sum it all up: Boring boring. You are on a god forsaken submarine, how many time can we see the operating valve depressurize? Even the torpedo room is dull. The torpedo room. The torpedo room. Weapons aren't supposed to be boring. Weapons are fast, destructive, and they explode, and no weapon more so than the torpedo, so why is it still so boring? I'll tell you why. No one cares why Liam Neeson is discussing the current state of political affairs in the Soviet Bloc. Let's shoot some missiles. And on rare occasions, when one submarine happens to come across an enemy sub, it is the slowest combat sequence you'll ever see. It's just a lot of ambient sounds over crew members talking nervously into radios. Lots of shots of subs maneuvering, which is like watching two beached whales try to hump. My god, submarine movies suck. I'd send them to hell if the devil didn't know better.

5.) Hangnail
Forgo the picture here, cause hangnails are gross. I got one because I bite my finger nails like they were made out of cotton candy. Freud says I have an oral fixation because I was neglected as a child. I think I just live in constant paranoia because I'm usually doing something I shouldn't be, like sticking my hand in my pants or grabbing pies off windowsills.