You know you're becoming increasingly emotional when you spend 20 minutes crying actual, authentic tears over the fact you asked your parent to buy you glue + they return home with Sainsbury's branded stuff instead of a Pritt stick.
Then you cry harder bc the wrapper on the glue is creased.
+ then you cry some more bc it's bright blue packaging + you abruptly decide that you hate the colour.
So you briefly regain self control + decide to attempt to distract yourself by washing the dishes but before you can even begin your compulsive cleaning you miraculously, I say miraculously bc I still do not know how I did it, break a glass filled with milk as you walk past the counter.
That's all I did, walk, + it supernaturally flew so fast across the room + shattered; I can assure you that it was not my doing.
There's glass all over our kitchen floor + I've quite literally been unjustly sent to my room for the rest of the night to chill with the giraffes + my parent's cleaning it at this v moment.
+ it's all bc of the glue.
CRYING. OVER. GLUE.
Goodness. - Truly thought I had got a grip.
Partially at the v least.
Truly, truly.
I do surprise me more each day.
I suppose I'm somewhat hoping this apparently obligatory rant, or so my mind tells me, knocks some sense into me bc the realisation of my preposterous attitude always arrives too late yet in the moment feels so.. appropriate.