The rest is silence.

'Because you know what? If that insulted you, it obviously...did.

...Uh, think about that.'

-Mistah Z

In case you haven't noticed, I am rapidly losing patience with high school. Last time I posted here, it was to complain about my fellow students, but my fellow students are frankly the least of my concerns. I won't go into details about my run-ins with certain teachers and certain members of the administration, because I sincerely doubt you're looking forward to hearing about my stupid authority issues; after all, I'm hardly the only one who would appreciate being treated like a sentient being every now and then (though I probably have the worst temper of anyone I know, outside the family, and thus am probably the most bothered by it). Not that I have anything against non-sentient beings, of course. They're probably the wisest of us all.

That said, I could have spent today skiing.

I bought some frozen yogourt from the patisserie this afternoon. I chose vanilla because the apricot containers were all broken, and, well -- white seemed like a good choice today. A little boring perhaps, but then how many people were eating ice cream outside today? And, well, it was really good. It's 3.00ish for a smallish container, but the taste and texture are quite superior. Given that the containers are clear plastic, the dessert is also less likely to have a TCBY-esque hole in the middle. And you can recycle them.

Unfortunately, dear friends, I fear I've led you on a little. I wrote this post with a single purpose in mind; the rest is filler. I want to ask a favour, that perhaps none of you will ever need to grant.

Although the obscure phobias are far more interesting, the fear I am about to reveal is a far more common one. Mortality doesn't bother me; dying is something I'd like to try sometime, when I've had enough of the other stuff. Being buried alive does bother me. Taphophobia is far less rational now than it used to be, what with 'the advent of modern medicine' and all, but I imagine it would be at least as uncomfortable now as ever to wake up underneath six feet of ground and a big rock.

So, cut me open first, or burn me. I don't really care, so long as you make sure I'm dead.

And on that cheery note, we end the post....

Sometimes I think I'm only happy when I have a keyboard beneath my fingers.