So, my comedy routine is pretty much a roundabout list of reasons why I'm going to die alone.

And uh. Effing pagent. I better win. My family doesn't have a lot of money. We're extending ourselves quite a bit financially. 50 for the ads, 95 for the dress, I need my hair and nails done. The first two alone? Yeah, that's my merry fucking Christmas. I don't like how any of this sounds. If I win, it'll be because I deserve two. Not the girls standing around talking about how this isn't a real pagent, and how they can't take it seriously. And the girls who stand around laughing at me for things I don't want to be laughed at for.

And I'm having so much fun sitting alone in the front row. No real plans for Halloween. Not gonna get a date to the dance. I've been on the verge of tears for two days straight. I have nothing to read. I'm going to run a drawing, feeling like this. My DS is dead and in the car, and I suddenly feel like I'm even more of a nerd because I'm upset that I can't play Pokemon. Like, in a bad way, for once. I happened to look at the Star Trek themed cup beside me when I typed that, and I don't know whether to cry or to laugh. I hope I don't die tomorrow. I will have accomplished nothing worthwhile. Yesterday, I cried because I realized I'm never going to slay a dragon, and I'm never going to own my own house.

And I'm going to spend the rest of my life bent over a clipboard, drawing and writing and pondering metaphysics every day with my face down, never seeing anything and missing all the good jokes while everyone else laughs and plays and grows. Together. While I just sit and stagnate and slowly die, because (woe is me!) nobody seems to understand or notice. It's fine to say I have a smidge of talent. But what the hell do I do with it? I don't have the patience for animation. I can't stick with a plot for stories and comics. I can't draw or write unless I have the inspiration to, which isn't something companies look for in hiring artists. I could draw all I like, but it can't get me anywhere. It's like I have these wings, but I can't fly on them. Useless, metal wings. Dead-fucking-weight.

It's the only thing that makes that depressing class fun, sitting with my back to everyone and listening to people talk and laugh about jokes I don't know about and will probably never get to hear. Because I'm Kortne' Slade, world-class genius, who is going to go to college and graduate certified for something she'll never use and then either die or go to a mental hospital.

I just absolutely, truly, fucking love life sometimes. I really do.