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A Bad Idea 103

Anne woke up determined to have a good day.

“I’m going to have a good day, dammit,” she whispered to herself, clutching the covers and opening her eyes.

She closed her eyes again. After all, the day couldn’t really start until she opened her eyes, right? She could still cling to the hope that it’d be a good day if the damn thing hadn’t started yet.

She rolled onto her right side. “Anne, you’re going to have a great day. Why? ‘Cause you’re fucking awesome, that’s why. Mhm. Yep. You’re a bad-ass.”

She rolled onto her left side. “Bad,” she said. “Aaaaassssssssssss.”

She opened her eyes, decided against it, closed them again. “You should really go to class. I mean you do fine on the tests, but why are you in college if you’re not going to try and learn shit?”

She opened her eyes yet again, but this time forced herself to keep them open. Yeah, the light hurt a little bit, but the day hadn’t really started, not yet, oh no. She hadn’t gotten out of bed! The day couldn’t very well start if she hadn’t even gotten out of bed!

“You’re in college because jobs,” Anne reminded herself. “Jobs need college degrees. You know your shit. Fuck learning. You just need that degree. Also an expunged criminal record. You should probably figure out that criminal record thing.”

She rolled onto her stomach, which never really worked, but she couldn’t figure out how to get comfortable again. This method — which led to her nose smooshed against the pillow, while her arms lay at her side with the hands palms-up — didn’t feel good. Also, she probably looked like a corpse.

Ah, the sight of corpses. She loved remembering the fact that she’d killed The Exxterminator. Yes. That totally wasn’t eating her up on the inside, thanks for asking!

“Fuck,” she muttered. At this point, the whole day was obviously going to be shit. She couldn’t even get out of bed! The first thing she had to do that day, and she hadn’t even managed to get it right without feeling anxious and dwelling on some damn awful thoughts!

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” she said, a little louder. Much to her surprise, this didn’t help the situation much. A little, maybe. Actually, no, nevermind, fuck it. Saying fuck made her feel better, so that did make the situation slightly better!

“Fuuuuuuuuuuu–” she began, pushing herself up so that her head was no longer on the pillow, “–uuuuuuuuuu–” she continued, rolling a bit, so that she was lying in bed again, but at least one of her feet was near the floor, “uck uck uck uck uck uck uck uck,” she said, sliding the other foot so that they both touched the ground.

She pushed herself forward, so that she landed on her knees. She then toppled to the side, so that she was sprawled out on the floor.

“It’s progress,” she told herself. “You’re making progress, Anne.”

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