The last thing I want to do is sound childish—I can assure you of that—but I’m very concerned. I woked up this morning and felt an ouchie on my finger, and saw that I’m has a boo-boo on it.
Now, normally I’d reserve this type of language for less-vulnerable moments with close friends, from whom I’d receive no harsh judgment. However, I simply felt it necessary to air my grievances and inform everybody in the whole wide world that my boo-boo is still very hurting and I think, I think, and I think it’s sad that my… I think I’m sad that my finger hurts and I want to go home.
Before you push back and tell me to “grow up” and approach this topic from a less sophomoric point of view, I urge you to empathize with the fact that my tummy also hurts so, so bad and also that the bathtub drain is scary and yells at me sometimes. Also, why do I have to wear socks? I don’t like them. I SAID I don’t LIKE them.
The cut on my finger seems to have started to heal—it was only a minor paper cut after all—and the problem at hand seems to have started to resolve itself, which is nice. Forgive me for sounding rather puerile earlier, I’m really, really tired—I stayed up til 8:30pm last night!!!!