Cringe

Well, I can heave a sigh of relief now that all my grades have been published, and for one, I rather want to kill myself. It seems that my last race to considerably augment my marks have proven disappointing results. My talents can only reel in minute increments of improvements.
Fortunately, I still have one more semester and further of my adult life to accomplish gleaming results worthy of pride in my post-grad era. Ha. Ha. Ha.



On a happy note, I deserted all grievances and made a regrettable decision to plunge myself in hedonistic pleasures: Shopping and Useless chatter (euphemism for Gossip). How girlish.

• 11:57. Rolled over, slurped drool, peeked at clock. Holy shit. 1hr 3min to get ready, meet C.
• 1:20. Pulled into parking lot. Approached by man in a wheelchair, asking for money.
• 2:45. C and I arrive at our favourite street after getting distracted twice and forgetting to turn into our designated street. What useless chatter can do.
• 2:50. Got 53min of free parking on my spot. Such luck is glee.
• 3:16. Biting into glorious oraganic fare. Chickpea Masala, how could I have lived without you?
• 3:45. Shopping.C takes note of a multi-coloured unique blanket, pointing and exclaiming that its funny that her mom makes the same kind. A wedding dress catches my attention. The owner responds saying that its never been worn and we could cut it up to use it for material. The shop also contains commercial fishing tools. Peculiar.
• 3:52. Shopping. Perhaps I've walked into my favourite toy store too often. Owner flashes a knowing smile. I create a damage of a hundred dollars purchasing only 2 items. After initial delirous ecstacy, C finally buys the Johnny Cupcakes limited edition shirt she's been pining for. Oh the darkness of jealousy.
  
• 4:20. Shopping. Getting carried away. Incessant grabbing of one-of-a-kind clothes, accesories, standing in changing rooms, useless chatter of what makes good pairing of clothes. Acquisition of faux tortoise-shell sunglasses, a seagreen empire waist top and a seven-dollar scarf bearing french colours. Voila! Monetary grief. I've begun to develop an insatiable desire for vintage articles, fooling my naive self with the seemingly 'vintage' prices.
• 4:51. Shopping. Another vintage distraction. Beaded bags. Exquisite velvet teal shoes. Cream boots with embossed decorations of Pegasus' wings. Dainty beige stacked heels. My damnable size 8 clown-feet are laughable.
• 5:10. Mad rush to the car. Relief. Car is still in sight.
• 5:20. Drop off a gift at another vintage store. Shopping. Eyeing a cream-coloured clutch with delicate smooth suede lining. $14. Deterrence, since looking at shopping bags hanging off my pale circulatory-cut arms.
  
• 5:56. More useless chatter about people we know, people from school. Some guy who looks like he's 40 turns out to be 28. Confirmed by C. What revelation.

I'm upset by the frequency of pink.