Oh, my gosh , I am going to die. My life is over. Done. That’s it, I see no other way out. That’s it the end of the rope. But I was so young. I never saw Paris. I mean, I never wanted to see Paris. But now I can’t. That to me is just something to say when you are about to die. Because I can never see Paris if I am dead. My heart started to beat faster than Usain Bolt running from a rabid dog swinging a machete. The heat inside my body rose as my blood began to boil. As if the supervisor saw the coal trimmers on an old-timey train sitting around and snapped them back to working. I felt the intense heat. It was like wearing a full body fur coat in mid-August in Orlando while jumping rope. The sweat came running down my face. A torrential downpour of salty sweaty water. Soaking into my shirt making the fabric stick to my skin.

I had got to get out of here. Why today? This started out like every other day. By a simple but annoying sound of the alarm clock telling me to wake up. That stupid machine. Once you are on the top of a mountain made of a very large scope of chocolate ice cream, and you skis are French fires that you can dunk in the ice cream as you slide down, and Morgan Freeman is your ski instructor, you do not want to wake up. I was having Morgan Freeman teach me how to ski! The voice of God was giving pointers to improve the way I was sliding down the hill. Literally a voice made of gold that surrounded me like warm hugs from grandma’s house.

Then the bleeping machine got to ruin it. Ent! Ent! Ent! Crap! The real world. Dreams are so much better but now I have to face that dumb thing called reality. Boring. Why can’t my life be narrated by Morgan Freeman? Anyway, then I had to get out of bed. The nerve of some people that it is not the social norm to stay in bed all day. Do not get me started on social norms. I mean why can’t I stay in bed all day? Why do I have to shower and put on pants? In this Puritan country of ours we all have to “wears clothes” like all the time, it’s annoying. Ulck. Reality is boring. It’s full of jobs, money, bills, work, responsibly and sadness.

But after I conform to the norms of hygiene and common decency. I went to agonizing walk to my first class. My goodness, when did they put Math 101 on the top of Everest? Why do you have to be a marathon runner just to get to a simple class building? Then navigating inside to find the classroom is a chore. Why do I have to be Magellan get to find the right room? Jeez. Who numbered these, a blind monkey with no sense of direction? I forgot my compass at home. In what world does room 119 go next to room 134? My goodness, if I was in charge, this world would be a better place.

The real tragedy of the day comes from when I got to the right classroom. With a few precious moments to spare before the class starts. I sit in a seat that they designed without thinking of human comfort. But the breaded boring guy was in the front of class and was about to start numbers boring math time. When I went to the giver of happiness, Samsung, to check my phone one last time when... I can’t even talk about it. A single tear formed under my eye. No Wi-Fi. What'z the point of having the phone then? It’s like having a dead butler. Or a car without keys. Or being given an ice cream cone when your hands where cut off. It’s the end.