Some insect somehow found its way into my beloved banana cake, rendering my favourite snack into a useless piece of rubbish. That bug, which I ruthlessly flicked it into oblivion, reduced my salvation from mugging into trash lying at the bottom of the dustbin.
Thus, I am currently feeling depressed. Exams seem to have a way of giving you depression. Depression is a wicked high. It can fling you across the high mountains, straight up into the bubbly skies before pouring liquid lead into your eyes, leaving them a charred mess as you descend straight into the 2nd level of Hell. You'll feel as if the angels abandoned you, leaving your sorry ass directly above the howling, searing barbecue pits of Satan.
Then, a sudden thought of you wringing the life away from your most annoying foe will strike you, releasing a intense rush of bloodlust in your veins as you hyper-ventilate with a vividly-coloured euphoria. When the devilish thrill boils tantalisingly high, it will disappear, leaving you back in reality with a strange sense of warped wonderment.
Depression is a wicked high. And my banana cake is ruined. By an insect.
Now listening to: "Happy?" Judy and Mary
