I tried looking Amelia up in the phone book, but as the thin pages flipped past I realized my endeavor was fruitless. I didnt know her last name, and if she had told me, it had completely slipped my mind.
I sat and watched that 70s show until I disgusted myself and had been stuffed with the unassuming food that fills the cabinets of home.
And then of course, I realize it is late, and tomorrow happens to be a Monday, and oh dear me, I will have to go to school.
Tired, I watch bad commercials and disregard the shows and dig out my old, treasured manga to reread till 4 in the morning.
Ah, bliss.

Of course, the difference is, when I wake up, the 10 pounds gobbling up the kitchen's supply of food are definately weighing me down and I notice my hair is in need of a washing, and I'm dead tired.
Struggle, as I always do, I manage to walk from the car to my classroom.
"WEDNESDAY?" Someone pokes me. "We're on page 230 in the textbook."
I raise my head and notice the rest of the class staring at me, just as shit-faced as I know I look.
The teacher smiles. "You okay there?"
I open my mouth and feel like a goldfish, so I quickly close it. Then I open it again and nod. "Uh..huh. Yea. I'm okay."
"You were snoring."
I feel like my eyes want to jump out of their sockets. "I was NOT! I dont snore."
She raises her eyebrows. "Mmhmm. But you're right. You dont snore. But I'm gonna make you stand if you dont wake up."
I hear a few sniggers and blush...ugh...I hate blushing. But I do stay awake the rest of the class. Or if I did sleep, I didnt notice. I never pay attention in history anyway.

Pheebs cant get over what happened on Sunday. She cant believe it, literally, if you are within a 5 mile radius you can hear her screaming.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" She squeals. You know, the really annoying kind, commonly used among infants and toddlers when they need attention. The kind that breaks open your eardrums and makes them bleed.
She literally just about dies. I see her now and she puts her hand over her heart and her eyelids flutter. Yes. Everything, everything has to be dramatized.
That’s part of her flair.
It’s just part of what you accept when you become best friends with her.
Meanwhile, after surviving her partial heart attack, she goes on and on about who knows what that took place who knows when (and my brain plays a loop of “who cares?