I had some troubles trying to figure this blog out. Not just the usual troubles where I struggle to find a unique topic that I haven't already somehow mentioned to anyone in this class or even outside of this class, because I do enjoy trying to make these posts pure and down to the lurking depths of the bottom of the barrel as possible. The barrel being my brain, of course. But with the added pressure of the deadline of this blog inevitably creeping along, and also, the fact that this is the last post that I will have to write this school year, it was wiggin me out a bit. I hate death, and the end of the school year just screams "YOU ARE OLD! OLD MORGAN! HAHAHA SOON ALL OF YOUR WORST FEARS** WILL COME TRUE AND YOU WILL BE SURROUNDED BY OLD ADULT MEN AND LADIES AND YOU WILL HAVE NO REAL FRIENDS JUST YOUR CHURCH FRIENDS THAT YOU EAT HALF A CHOCOLATE MUFFIN WITH ON SUNDAY MORNINGS AT TEN O CLOCK WITH AND COUNT DOWN ALL OF YOUR ALREADY DEAD EX BEST FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES WITH THE SAME ENTHUSIASM YOU USED TO HAVE WHEN YOU WERE FIVE AND WOULD CROSS OUT THE DAYS OF DECEMBER, BECAUSE EVENTUALLY YOU WILL DECIDE GOD IS REAL, AND WITH IT, YOUR NORMALITY WILL SLOWLY CREEP IN, AND WITH IT, WRINKLES, AND WITH IT, BAD JUDGEMENT IN ROUGH TRAFFIC, AND WITH IT, DEATH. ALWAYS DEATH ! ! !". Now the uncomfortable aching in my gut is starting to sweep in, so I am going to move on because I'd rather not spend tonight thinking about my inevitable doom. Mwa ha ha.
So I have decided to write it about things that make me happy. Y'all sit down for a spell and drink up some of this home brewed peach iced tea that I suckled up for ya and make yourself comfortable.
One.
I love my dad's pasta salad. At every picnic, dinner, lunch, date with my dog, ( I don't have a dog who am I kidding sheesh) and outing that I have outed to, if there is some sort of salad involving pasta, commonly known as pasta salad, I will try that baby. But. Butt. No one has ever touched my dad's pasta salad with a ten foot pole. I don't get it. I have watched him make it. He just piles squishy multicolored snail noodles with italian dressing and little infant cherry tomatoes and pepperoni and various cheeses and celery and boom. Delicioso. Today marked a day that coincidentally fell on when three and a half weeks have passed, and my family provides me nutrition, so he made pasta salad and boy I ate that up.
Two.
Not to sound like a nasty person, but I am going to sound like a nasty person. But the prospect of attainable money from summer jobs has my toes itchin'. I'm serious, I'm so giddy about maybe being able to buy myself some LUSH products and maybe some quality ice cream. I hear that intro song to Celebrity Apprentice, I think, the one where it's like " Money money money, MONEY!" just looping around in my head like a pretty merry go round.
Three.
THE PROSPECT OF HAVING THE HORRIBLY OPPRESSIVE CHAINS THAT HAVE BEEN LACERATING AT MY RAW AND BLOODIED FLESH FOR ALMOST 180 DAYS BEING RIPPED AWAY IN THE MOST GLORIOUS FASHION BY MY BEAUTIFUL GLOWING SAVIOR SUMMER. THE CHAINS, OBVIOUSLY BEING THE INTENSELY GROTESQUE AND INVADING PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF AFFECTION THAT I HAVE BEEN SUBJECTED TO BY EVERY TEENAGE COUPLE IN EVERY HALLWAY IN EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY.
Four.
Those peaches mangos and limes.
Okay, that's good enough for me, hope you guys have a super great summer and realize that everything is temporary so you should just accept that you want Nicki to be your mom and flow with it jeesh.
**Why this pig so HD someone tell me.
