Fiasco

Ive spent months in something akin to solitary confinement or even penal colony with occasional rendezvous with the pals over caffeine or something that'll go straight to a woman's thigh but its orgasmic succulence leaves you no choice but to capitulate into it. Im talking about cake, people. Post law school time out has been idly tranquilizing,with the occasional turbulence in which then i'd register myself into a mental health day where i would then subject myself to less than stellar reads which are then met by vexations and a professionally perfected eye-roll.

My recent fiasco has been a meltdown in Toys R Us. Where my (adolescent) blood bounds are merrily engaged in a ball flinging it here and there and eventually victimizing the iPhone engrossed adult (me,obvs) in the room. A ball landed on my fucking shnoz. Proceeding to me hysterically sobbing at the sight of blood,proceeding to 2 guilt-filled brothers and some retail therapy. That's gonna leave a scar