Shit just got real.

"Megan", I can hear you say already. "Shouldn't you be composing a 1000 word essay on the effectiveness of the British colonies?" 

"Yes," I say to you gently. "But I'd rather stab myself in the eye with my own orbital bone than do that right now." 

"Gory imagery there. Shouldn't you have put a rating or some forewarning that today's imagery would be so grotesque? I mean, what if a kid read that? They'd surely be traumatized." you say back. 

"No." I answer. "Kids can handle it. I mean, have you SEEN Ke$has new video? A little stabbing with an orbital bone is nothing compared to that." 

"Touche," I hear you say. 

"Did you know that spellcheck says that the spelling of touche is incorrect?" I mention. "It suggests that maybe I meant to type douche, and in retrospect, that would probably been a funnier word to use there." 

Are you uncomfortable? I am. Enough talking for today. 

So. I've noticed another strange phenomena that has occurred in my life recently. I call it the "Calender Blindness", or C.B for short. This sad condition has a few symptoms. 

First, you may lose track of the day. You may even find yourself turning to a trusted companion and asking, "What day is it good sir/madam?" This is stage one of C.B.

Stage two is the denial phase. This usually occurs after the question in stage one has been answered, and you reply, "No way. It was January first like... four days ago." You will usually encounter the "concerned shoulder pat" here. 

Stage three is the most dangerous. Because you have completely lost track of time's subtle passage, you will begin to pretend you know what day it is. This brings me to the stage I'm at right now, and I blame the government for my case of C.B, and all other maladies that I am currently stricken with right now. It's easier to blame everything on the government because Harper is one silly looking biznitch, and it makes me feel better. 

Anyway. Story time. So, I'm discussing my school due dates with my mother last night. I know, a teenager who actually talks to her mother. Take a moment to still your thundering heart. 

Stilled? Good. So, we're discussing one of my projects. I tell her it's due on March 1st, so I'll start working on it this coming Tuesday or Thursday. My stage three case of C.B has decided it's still February 18th, so I'm thinking that March 1st is still a ways away. That's when my mother politely informs me that March 1st is this coming Tuesday. And then I'm all,

And she's all, "You didn't know what today was, did you?" 

And of course I'm all,

And I say, "LOL, no seriously, is the 1st really next week?" 

And she looks at me all,

And she's all, "OMG you really didn't know what today was."

So, I'm all, "Could you help me break my orbital bone and stab myself in the eye?" Because now I realize how bad my case of C.B is, and I need to start on all those projects that I had wrongly assumed I could put off for another day. 

Then, like the good little student I am, I shuffle off to the computer to start my essay, among many other projects. But reading turns quickly to this,

And my future quickly turns from me graduating university to living in a cardboard box in a smelly alleyway with my dog named Russ. 

On another note, I wear glasses. That information will be important in a moment, don't fret.

So, I'm typing away a few minutes ago, and I notice my neck has begun to hurt. I work on my laptop, so it's not uncommon for me to sit improperly and wind up with a sore neck. Naturally, I ignore it. 

Then, as I'm typing, I realize why my neck has begun to hurt. I realize that my glasses are so dirty that I've begun to try and look AROUND all the specks. Funny enough, my neck stopped hurting after I cleaned my glasses. 

Not funny? 

Guess you had to be there. 

On another note, no Katy Perry, I've never felt like a plastic bag floating through the wind, because I'm not on drugs. 

Adieu.

Love,
Megan