About as happy as Jeremy Clarkson on a vespa driving across Vietnam.

*That means miserable if you didn't get that reference.*

Firstly, here is a picture of myself at a happier time in my life. It has no relevance to this post but if I were to post one that did it would literally just be a picture of me crying and killing people with a machete (Dear the Government, I'm joking! I'm not going to kill anyone with a machete!)

This week I learned two very important things about myself. Firstly, I am very bad at being sick and secondly, I am really bad at living with people.

The first lesson struck me early on Friday morning, as a I sat in a heap on my bathroom floor projectile vomiting my life into the toilet (attractive, you are welcome). I cried my eyes out, I begged for whatever god was out there to simply end my life and after that failed I took a sleeping pill to try and sleep through the pain. Unfortunately, the pill managed to get about one fifth of the way down my esophagus before it came shooting back out again (ew, ok seriously, I'm stopping). I was miserable.

I spent the next two days laying in my bed, hugging my bathroom trash can turned puke bucket, moaning and groaning and whimpering and crying....I needed everyone to know how horrible I felt so of course I sent out many a woe is me text, because if my Mum isn't here to buy me Ginger Ale and pity me someone had to be.

That someone happened to be my friend Mason who after much reassurance that I wasn't going to throw up on him, promised to come over and keep me company. My request was crackers and Ginger Ale....he brought beer and pizza. Boys are dumb.

We then spent the next few hours continuing what I like to call "Jordyn makes Mason watch every Top Gear Special in the world, because they are hilarious and he is dumb for not watching them." All was good in the world. I was no longer a pity party of one and I had someone to rub my tummy....which I actually let him do because if there is one good thing about throwing up, it's the temporary abs.

It was 3am when we had finally drifted off to sleep when suddenly my 6th sense began to tingle. I swear on my life if someone is having sex even remotely near me I can feel it, I think it comes from years of living across the hall from my brother who was a huge fan of watching movies with excessive volume (TMI Sam? would you prefer I not spread your life online to random people I don't know? Well then maybe you should answer my crisis texts!) and someone was definitely having sex in my living room. This is where my second lesson came in.

I bolted out that door faster than you can say Quidditch. I didn't even care about the abuse my eyes were about to witness, all I knew was there were two strangers having sex on my poor couch who is not unfamiliar to this very scene. Lesson to all, if someone lets you crash at their apartment....DON'T HAVE SEX ON THEIR COUCH.

Anyway long story short (what a cop out sentence...but it's 5am and I'm exhausted, yet not asleep?) I lit that kids ass on fire. I gave him a lovely earful about respect and then posted up in the doorway waiting for him to leave many a moment later. I have no sympathy, I hope you go home with the bluest balls imaginable. I do on the other hand apologize to my roommate for putting him in a bad situation with my 3am rampage....and I would like to apologize to my couch for all the random hookups it has faced over the years...and also I would just like to publicly apologize to the girl, I'm sorry you went home with some kid who doesn't even have a bed to take you to and instead takes you to his friends couch. We all make mistakes girl, brush it off.

I finally retreated to my room to find Mason literally dying of laughter....

I'm glad my murderous rage is so hilarious.

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