rocknload | (no subject)

Earlier today I walked half a mile and was nearly crippled by a bad pair of shoes, which stripped the skin off the back of my heels. Pain stricken, I hobbled to the Greyhound station only discover that the bus I was trying to catch just didn't exist.

My cell phone died and I ran out of change for the pay phones, and my feet were in so much pain I was unable to abort my mission and try another weekend, because I didn't think I was capable of getting home. Nearly everyone in the station gave me a wide berth as I got angrier and angrier, because they thought I was a crazy person—and in a Greyhound station, this is saying a whole lot.

Fortunately, two hours later, I was able to get a seat on a Mexican tour bus—it was really from Mexico, everything on it was done in Spanish, which I was suddenly glad to speak—which was heading towards Los Angeles and dropped me off in Phoenix. There I waited alone for nearly an hour, gradually getting sicker and sicker—I am sick again, it is a surprise—and desperately hungry but unwilling to deal with the pain it'd cause me to walk the fifty feet to the vending machines—it seems lame now, especially as I'm sitting down and I've taken the torture shoes off, but oh my god it hurt. The guards noted how lonely and pathetic I looked, and again, that's saying a lot. An hour later my parents picked me up.

I just got home. I hate everything and I'm going to bed.