I am so bored right now, that I’m just gonna write without putting much thought into what gets written. BAM. I remember when I first learned how to type, I thought I would never get the hang of the whole “keeping your fingers on home row.” What the furkey is home row anyway? Well, now I’m a total pro at home row. I can type with my eyes closed, and still feel fairly confident that I’m not making many typos. Mad skillz. I spelled skills incorrectly but that was intentional, so I’m actually not an idiot. BONKERS. I am a loser though. Because I’m totally talking to myself. Or rather, I’m typing to myself. I don’t know. Does that still make me a loser? Probably.
Time moves SO slowly when you’re not having fun. I am NOT having fun. This day should have ended like 8 hours ago. Right now, there are only 32 minutes left, but it still feels like torture. Frickity fruck frack fuck. Hey, 31 minutes remaining. When will this day end? Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even looking forward to another weekend that’s bound to be disappointingly short. All because some bozo decided that office hours should be 8:30am – 5pm, Monday through Friday. That bozo decided we should work our butts off for 5 days a week, and then be rewarded with 2 days off. TWO…SHORT…DAYS. And it’s not even really 2 days because on Saturday you’re all like, “Alright, this is nice. I’m just gonna relax all day.” But then Saturday turns into Sunday, and you can’t help but think, “Fuck, tomorrow’s fucking Monday AGAIN?! All work and no play, that is NO way to live. I mean, what the furkey is the point of life anyway?! Why were we put on this earth? Why God, why?!” Or something like that.
Now there are 28 minutes remaining and you clearly don’t give a frick. I give a frick. I don’t know why I’m saying frick when what I really mean to say is fuck. So…fuck. I’m bored and I’m still typing to myself. This is a really long non-existent conversation. I probably shouldn’t post this on my blog, as most people will think I’ve lost my mind. Or maybe they won’t give a flying frickity fruck frack fuck. I’m going to copyright that phrase.
Do you think anyone has ever died of boredom? Someone probably has, but we wouldn’t know. The obituary would probably say something about suicide. I guess boredom can lead to thoughts of suicide. Being bored is actually quite depressing. This blows. Seriously, can someone please explain the meaning of life? I think I’ve officially taken this too far. This is frickity fruck frack fucking ridiculous. 26 minutes. I quit…life. Ha. Okay, bye.
Side note: Lillian cannot be held responsible for the things that her brain said. She and her brain were not working as a unit at the time of this post. My apologies and thank you for understanding…that I am insane.