Dread Locks.

I have 4:30 hours to study French and chemistry for stupid evaluations quizzes that are good for nothing except for bringing your psyche down and your cyber life hours up. I’ve also gotta work on a Chemistry assignment. So anywho, I’m still hanging around here doing absolutely nothing with my life because my head doesn’t feel intact and I’m afraid any attempt at overload is gonna make it tumble off of my neck and unto the couch where it so belongs.

Not that much going on, had a meeting yesterday, went fine, had to leave early because dad has appointments, had a friend hang out at my place. School was cool, rhyming unintended. We had that annual group photo thingie. Inevitably, something just haaaaad to go wrong. I got my allergy that night and woke up with my eyes as slits and my breathing pattern dwindling. I gobbled the pill on my way to school hoping they’ll work their magic in three hours. To tell you the truth though, I couldn’t care less.

That expression always gets on my nerves. You see, the original is ‘I could care less’ and it’s supposed to mean I don’t give a shit, but if you think about it, if you actually have it in you to care less, then you do give a shit.

I have my hair in dreadlocks, because I didn’t have time to get my hair done for the annual photo thingie in the middle of all el droos and stuff. Now I don’t have to comb/wash my hair for a week. :) Ahhh, the little things. I actually thought the dreadlocks and blowfish eye-lids gave me that certain reggae air. All I needed now was a bong and I could make it as an understudy for Bob Marley.

Usually that day, which we’ve conveniently called “The International Photography Day” – that is if you consider the pathetic trials at socializing caught on film photography – triggers something in everyone’s heads and before you know it everybody’s walking around with a cam snapping shots of their faces with the same invariable plastic smile plastered on at every possible and improbable spot of the school you can think of. That goes on for the entire school day, then your homepage is flooded with photos that have the same face with different backgrounds, the same stupid airhead comments over and over again and you dare not comment/like because you know it’s damn sure that you’ll be bombarded with notifications a month into it, because that’s what they’re there for after all; a renewable anti-depressive resource.

You’d think people grow up, but they still had fights on who was in the picture. A friend and I actually got dissed because the group we hang out with sometimes decided it’s good punishment for all the girl fights that they deny us of the right of being photographed with their royal butts. You’d be surprised what the hit em hard approach can do, a couple of minutes later, when we made it clear that the roles are actually reversed and we actually Want to not be with em, they came over and asked us to. Haha. Oh shoot me, holy dumb fucks.

Oh, and she’s happy, for the first time in a long time. Blue has turned into Beige again. And no, you’re not supposed to get it.