Tuesday, September 17, 20XX

I had a crappy day today.

Ah, ah, what a crappy day it was. Everything that could've gone wrong went wrong for me today. I woke up late, later than I usually allow, and skipped breakfast. That isn't so bad, except that I also forgot my lunch at home. I left my wallet at home too, so no buying lunch. On the way to school, I tripped and almost fell into a puddle. Thankfully, a pile of LITERAL DIRT broke my fall. Not only did I get messy, but the brown ruined my stylish fit, AND my sick white kicks.

I did the best I could to get it off. Then, other stuff happened. Academic downfalls to a combination annoyance mix-up to stupid yet avoidable mishaps, and then some. As the day progressed, my attention hazed, my bearings slipped. I was lost in my mind and drifting. I was lost in my mind seeing different. I was seeing the world through murky, grey lenses.

I don't think I did well on the pre-assessments today, even though English is a stronger subject of mine. I was destroyed during round two checkers. I even forgot to bring a pencil, so I'm writing with this crappy ballpoint pen that makes soft enough marks to be irking.

In the past I worried much more over this stuff. Now, I cease to care much at all. Everybody has bad days. It sucks, then it passes.

When did I start thinking this way? I used to dream of a perfect life where I could have it all, and more importantly, be it all. I came pretty damn close to that vision too, except there was always something missing. I think my fatigue got the best of me. I think that's why I stopped—stopped creating my own legacy. Stopped fighting for school popularity, academic prestige, and top sports roles. Maybe... maybe I was just tired.

I used to be... to be so kind. Sometimes I look back, longing for those "golden years". In reality, they were probably anything but golden. In my memories, however, they hold a special throne in the history of my life. I like to imagine I was something in the past, and that my form now is but a transition period before the next spark, the next season of flourish.

I'm happy with who I am. I am... really. It's much easier, living carefree like this. Not having to work myself down. Really.

It doesn't matter anyway.

I digress. Anyway, I walked into the club room pretty upset, and I didn't do a great job hiding it in front of Mark. I wasn't trying to, anyway. He picked up on it immediately and said nothing, respecting my state with simple presence. I am grateful for it.

We spent much of the time in the club room silent. Mr. Kafka and Claire are out again. Mr. Kafka popped his head in once more like one of those whack-a-moles, said a few pieces, left a box of leftover J-DONUTS, and swiftly left as quickly as he came. Even though I love the smack out of J-DONUTS, which in my opinion are the absolute BEST donuts in the area, I wasn't feeling it enough to grab some. I don't know if Mr. Kafka noticed my state. I'm glad Claire didn't show up.

Anyway, we passed the time, humorlessly, a bit awkwardly. Neither of us said nothing. We didn't feel compelled to say anything. Against the normal background conversation hue, this new club state has filled the gaps with lots of empty space, fit enough for the nature sounds of rustling leaves and the occasional breeze to occupy. Today, it was slightly different, slightly off, than it was yesterday. My mounting frustration felt tangible, a little thick in the air.

Then, an unsuspecting and poorly timed sound broke the silence.

My stomach grumbled.

Rather embarrassingly.

Mark gave me long look. I looked away.

No good. When I'm not feeling well, it's harder to maintain my imposing, carefree attitude.

In order to relieve this newfound tension, I stood up from and walked to the box of J-DONUTS.

I stopped before it in dismay, because what I saw were not donuts, but the purple and green remains of delectable taro and pandan filling. There were no donuts to be found. That's when I remembered that Mr. Kafka had two boxes in his hand when he dropped by. I don't think he did this on purpose, I think he left the empty box while he was hurriedly talking. Dejection possessed me, like a depressed spirit. The club room returned to silence as I stood there, sad and clueless.

I thought, this is real crappy, and awkward.

What was I supposed to do now?

Then, something unexpected happened. Another, more purposeful sound broke the silence.

Mark coughed.

He coughed way too loud. It wasn't one of those throat-clearing coughs, or I'm-choking-and-I-need-immediate-stomach-compressions type coughs, but one of those forced coughs to brush something under the rug,

or attract attention. And attention he did attract. I looked at him.

He stared me back in the eyes. A few sidelong glances, very subtle, then back at me. He pulled and held out a very recognizable disposable foam cup, and made gestures with his head towards the Keurig.

Before I could express any sort of agreement or disagreement, he said, very cooly, with great annoyance, Eat it.

With those matter-of-fact words, and his deathly Intimidation Stare, I had no choice. I resignedly and gratefully picked up the cup noodle from his hands and prepared it. He also handed me a few quest bars. Mint chocolate chunk. Good stuff.

Now, I'm writing in this journal. The both of us are slurping on some cheap goodness. It's... it's not bad. I'm somewhat glad he offered it the way he did. I wouldn't have accepted it any other way, especially with my rampant pride, as I am. I may be upset, but at least now I'm not as hungry.

Thanks Mark. I was thinking of saying that to him directly, but looking at him now, I feel that may be unnecessary. I'll let him chill, respectfully.

When I'm getting home, I'm treating myself to some leftover sinigang. And the other protein bar now stashed in my backpack.

P.S. I'm now marking the days of week, along with the date.

Helps me a ton to keep track. Reduces unnecessary recollection-related panic attacks

(is it Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday? Crap, it's Friday I got that one homework due nooooo).

Ima roll with this new system.