Wretchedness

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Down in the dumps is far finicky than my current state. Believe me, I deemed never of this sentiment until now. I was exceptionally thrilled to see my family off for a vacation, leaving me a plethora of time for indulgence. Now, nostalgic for only three days, I puke on mere thought of having to wait four excruciating days for their arrival. Subconsciously, I deserved this melancholy. I blamed no one but myself because I rebuffed my parents' vacation offer, exchanged my ticket for dough, and favored solitude over reunions. I just chose not to acknowledge the idiocy in me. Who would exchange a sloppy get-together over a week of grandeur? I did. The latter presage fun, which unkowingly tantamount doom. I have no one, I have no friends, I have no exuberance to spend my supposedly, blissful week. Today is extraordinary. I did overly-amazing things like read lousy books, listened to slang-tongued lecturers, surfed for twisted sites, heaved over leftovers, watched anorexic artists go gaga over their selves, and all lackluster things one could think of. I just wish time favored me to do such mind-numbing expereinces. But I worry not for tomorrow brings another day of monotony. How extraordinary, indeed! I wish I chose the sloppy get-together. I wish I went for a vacation.