Bite me. NOW.

Holy Crap. I’m going to effing die. Right here, on the high bar chairs of Starbucks Shangri-La. I just finished sending my article and my photos for the school news paper (which took me sooo long to do because of the poofing internet connection) but I’m still on the verge of getting my head bitten off by the scary dragons, also known as my parents. I swear, my mother’s more than ready to do that if I come empty handed after this day. Huh. What can I do? It’s not like I can forge my teacher’s signature (not that I’d actually do that even if I can). I’d be damned forever if I do that. And I’d be damned forever if I don’t get my card.

How the eff am I going to explain this to my parents? Hey mom, dad, you know I’m a frustrated photographer, right? Yeah, about that, I somehow managed to be even more of a frustrated photographer. But definitely more on the frustrated side than the photographer one. And oh, I won’t be able to enroll because of that.

Yeah. That’ll go smoothly, I’m sure. NOT.

I hope my parents have already picked my burial lot because I’m going to die from panic attacks. That is, if they don’t kill me before I actually suffer from acute panic attacks. That’s fine, I guess. Me dying equals n million pesos of insurance money. They can use it to build me an uber cool mausoleum with a rooftop over looking the sea. Not that I get to appreciate that when i’m dead. But hey, that’s really uber cool.

But while I’m still in my comfort zone, which is actually the innermost corner of Starbucks Shang, I’ll spend my remaining hours getting drunk by the sight of an uber hot dude sipping a venti caramel macchiato. And yeah, getting two years worth of my caffeine fix. Maybe that’ll knock me down enough to bring me to the ER and buy more time. That is if the paramedics don’t proclaim me as ‘dead on the spot by caffeine overdose.’  But I’ll take my chances.

~

Over and (passing) Out.