I'm a heartbreaker.
Last minute plans left us armed with bubbre tea and a box full of food sitting around catching up about trips, school, boys and girls. This followed by a futile attempt to get beer at Cheers(when the hell has that ever happened to us?), thus resulting in us scuttling over to Seven Eleven and finally succeeding. HA! Lepaked by the river for a while with our beers and non-existent nuts and off to the pub we went for actual drinks. And for the second time in two weeks, my liver gave way and I crashed and burned after just a few. Embarrassing.
Flushed, shaking and incredibly nauseous (Yes I hurled), I couldn't even make it home and an indignant call for help had to be made. Thanks again Chew for saving my life(and eyeballs) and you love, for looking after me the best way you could. And after all of that, I reach home, twenty three hours later, only to be greeted with a mountain of work and slipping grades.
Maybe I'm just not cut out for this life anymore.
I am selfish. I am wrong.
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