April showers.

I have come to the conclusion that blogging alone is not very fun, but it does allow me to do this.

People should not have the ability to spontaneously attack you verbally because you said something you shouldn't have said, thinking you were being helpful. They should not be able to throw things on the ground while yelling, ("I wasn't yelling, did you think I was yelling at you?" DEFINITION YELLING: RAISED VOICE, a.k.a. yes you were yelling bitch)about how they aren't going to turn this in,*drops on ground* and shooting off casual little snips to make it personal, blowing your argument for them to calm THE FUCK DOWN out of proportion and the water simultaneously (though they claim later that it wasn't anything to do with YOU personally).

WELL. To the woman who gave me that queasy my-personal-space-has-been-violated feeling yesterday for an ENTIRE DAY and made me cry though I was neither angry nor sad, YOU ARE TOO TENSE and a bitch. I hope everything you work on collapses and you never have a good clay day again.

I would wish upon you that your stubbornness be your end, and that nothing you ever do be perfect enough and so consume you in a ball of self hatred and eternal frustration, but I will assume those particular insults are self fulfilling given the way you exploded like Mt. St. Helen in my face.

And now back to the scene of the crime because I have homework that is very specific in ceramics and there is only one place on this campus with a wheel I can work on.

And in volly to that horrid quip, Yes, why DON'T you come and paint next to me? I am a FUCKING PAINTER. I will paint your ceramic ass into the ground until you feel like the mud that cerulean and umber with a touch of pthalo green make and you in turn for your major, play with.

THE END.