There are few things that occur in my life that simply make me wish I had been straight up smashed during their happenings, as to justify my awe-inspiring amount of stupidity.

Today, I bore the weight of a close friend meddling in the forbidden land of "I-quit-okay-bye" in the form of haphazard use of anti-anxiety pills, having to fetch a considerable amount of energy drinks for her seeing as a trip to the hospital would have complicated things in her life even further for business reasons. The experience forced me to take action and be of some service to someone who needed me the most out of anyone else in her life, because I'm apparently a professional hopeless, depressed person who knows exactly what to say and do in the case you've just about had enough of your own trials. I do not necessarily object to this, so...

Surprisingly, this was not the worst thing that happened today. That was all fine and dandy in its own convoluted, twisted way, since nothing seriously catastrophic happened, right?

The immense horror I was faced with shortly afterwards resulted in a certain cinematic, science-fiction sort of response. I had not eaten anything the entire day, so I took it upon myself to concoct one of my delectable, award-winning, mouth watering culinary masterpieces. My egg sandwich is quite popular with all the people living here in my one bedroom apartment. Needless to say, I was excited to hear that I was going to make a classic blackvragor egg sandwich...

I procured the necessary ingredients from my fridge, unbeknownst to me the devious nature of a carton containing only two eggs on its far right and its whimsical distribution of weight. Thus, I foolishly gathered what I needed in an entire arm load. I placed the bread on the counter, the cheese, the....wait where has that wily carton of eggs gone? Oh yes, it is plunging toward the floor at what appears to be light speed, flipping me the bird the entire way down.

It goes without saying that the downward trajectory of the only two eggs left in the entire apartment proved to be problematic, and I immediately burst into an animalistic utterance consisting an earth shattering volume.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

^splat.

I stood in a stupor as I gaped at the liquid remnants of what was to be the key ingredient in my breakfast delight. They mockingly spread across the floor without a purposeful direction. I felt robbed. I immediately became insulted by the tragic, uncanny nature of my situation. I was disgusted with myself.

"HOW COULD I DROP THE FUCKING EGGS? WHY!?" After a moment of lament, I put away the now useless ingredients and retreated to my burrow of a bedroom and pouted until my cat told me to knock it off and give him food.

...*sob*

Also, if I actually had a life, I'm sure this would make for one completely superficial complaint, considering my introductory tale, which indeed made for a previously distraught mood. I figure after dealing with what I did, the smashing of my eggs just made the day exponentially worse.


Carry on.