26 March 2012

Cut Myself

Whenever people say that they broke a window or dented the wall, I'm always baffled at how that's even possible. Well, my friends, today I join the leagues of super-strength human beings who are able to punch through plaster and shatter glass. That's right, I broke a window.

I was knocking on the glass window on my front door, trying to get someone's attention because I forgot my key, and no, we don't have a doorbell either. Then I pulled a Dorian Gray. For some inexplicable reason, I became so incredibly frustrated at my grandparents that I began banging the window, trying to make noises loud enough for their aged hearing. Then it shattered. I didn't even realize what happened until I saw the broken window. The next thing I know, my hand is profusely bleeding in four different places and I leave my left shoe outside in a mad dash to the sink.

No physical incident is ever complete without an emotional episode. I called my mother to tell her what happened and thankfully, she was more concerned about my well-being than the stupid window. A half hour later, my dad comes home and starts yelling at me without end and seemingly, without a reason. Sure, I broke the window by accident and in his mind I did it on purpose and everything is my fault, but was that even why he was yelling at me?

To make things worse, I think I'm getting sick again.

Until next time,

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