Reading V

I don't think I have had time for any leisure reading in the past three months. 'Tis very sad. I miss books. SO I went to the library yesterday (GASP!)

I know. Shocker right?

Okay, so yesterday, as per usual, I got home from school, as per usual, went to the side door, as per usual, and attempted get in the house so I could take a nap and eat good food, as per usu---- Yeah, no. I'll stop that. I'm pretty sure you get the point.

However I discovered that getting into a locked house is very difficult when one has left their house key in said house, and is lacking in proper adequate lock picking devices. (Note: I don't wear hair pins, bobby pins, or clips, or carry around a credit card or ID of similar material. Nor did I carry sewing materials with me that day, not that I ever do, or any sort of metal or other hard material bar.)

And so I was stuck outside for the first time in ages, but it was okay because yesterday was really pretty and warm. So, I decided to visit the library.

And conveniently forgot my library card in my bag on the front porch.

Well, WHOOPDEEDOO aren't I the genius. AND THEN, I went to go pick my little brothers up from school, came all the way back home, was prepared to walk right back over to the library WITH MY CARD THIS TIME to check out some books I saw that looked pretty interesting when BA BAM!! Time fricking SLAPS ME IN THE FACE and says "OH LOOK! BOO HOO! LIBRARY CLOSES IN TWELVE MINUTES!"

Time. Go die please. It takes fifteen minutes to walk to the library. Five on a bike. But then I'd have to fill my wheels with air and ain't nobody got time for that. Well, at least I didn't. I'm weak and it takes ten minutes to pump both of my wheels. I cried. Not really. Just figuratively.

I guess none of this really matters though, and you just read this whole post for nothing, because in the end, I got my books after school today and all of the house chores were completed perfectly and everything was good in the world.

Or maybe there is some immensely amazing and huge meaning behind this story that some psychologist or the other will find one day when I'm dead and famous and then spread this post to all the little textbook making copies that force little children to read bland and boring stories about dogs who talk, and my post from freshmen year will be the most interesting thing in it...

Hey, you never know. Stranger things have happened.

*flops arm in rainbow*

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PS- If you are some random psychologist who just happens to find some deeper meaning in my writing, feel free to send it to multiple publishing companies along with all of your notes and ideas about my supposed ideas. Then we'll both be famous. Thanks.