The tragic thing about not taking notes on events such as this, is that I can’t seem to place the exact period when this happened. I remember about 95% of all the paranormal things that happen to me, but I remember them without a date to back them up. I can easily remember the 1st one that happened when I was about five years old, and I can remember the most recent one that’s taken place just a few weeks prior to this post. However, everything that’s happened in between is just a random clusterfuck of events. Looking back, it would’ve been better if I had kept a journal on these types of experiences, but…that just seems like it’d be a whole lot of work. This story took place late 2010, if my memory serves me right. 

     It was a strange time for me, my parents were going through their ups and downs, and my mother was currently staying with her mom in Boise, Idaho. I stayed with my dad in our house in Southern California. One night, after my dad had gone to sleep, I decided to bring the guitar into the living room and work on a few songs that I had been writing at the time. For some reason, I always seemed to do my best writing at night. 

    I started to feel a bit tired after about twenty minutes on the couch, and decided to go wake myself up to the best of my ability. I went into the bathroom, and splashed my face with cold water, and as usual, ended up staring at myself in the mirror for a solid five minutes (I clearly have issues.) When I finally got back out to the living room, I went to reach for my pen, when I noticed that there was a tiny black feather positioned perfectly underneath it. 

    This baffled me for one of two reasons. First of all, I distinctly remember placing my pen down on my notebook without seeing a feather. And secondly, I got the most peculiar sense of paranoia when I caught a glimpse of it. I pulled it out, and held it up to the light. When I say this thing was tiny, I mean this thing was FUCKING TINY. It couldn’t have been longer than two inches, and at the widest, it was maybe three centimeters. Hands down, the smallest feather that I have ever seen. 

    I just kind of laughed it off, but decided that I would take a picture with my blackberry and send it to my mother. I knew she’d get a kick out of it, because she was as religious as they come, and would probably go on and on about how it was an angel. My mom decided to call me, and just like I had figured she would, ended up telling me that it was an angel. 

    I distinctively remember telling her that I didn’t think angels had black wings. Thought that would’ve fallen more or less under the demon category, which, was definitely not something I wanted to look into. After about ten minutes of random phone conversation with her, I eventually told her that I was tired and was going to get some sleep. 

   As soon as I hung up the phone, I went into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle. The strangest thing happened to me as I walked through the entryway. It felt as if I had just walked through a force field of some kind. I know it sounds strange, but the best way that I can describe it, is it felt as if I walked through an invisible 2-inch thick coat of jelly. I’m not talking about Smuckers, or anything along those sorts, I’m just referring to texture alone, that’s what it felt like. 

   Immediately after passing through it, I remember getting goosebumps all over my body, and they stayed for a solid minute. As I was filling up my water, my eyes did not look away from that entryway. I went to hang up the phone to charge, and as I passed the microwave I got this strange feeling of fear. The type of fear that freezes you dead in your tracks. I dont know how, but I knew that if I looked over at the entryway one more time, I would catch a glimpse of whatever it was that left that black feather for me. 

   I must’ve stood there staring at the ground for a solid five minutes, before mustering up the courage to look up. I glanced cautiously into the reflection of the microwave, and to my dismay, saw the silhouette of a man. He filled the entire entryway, so I’m guessing he was an upwards of nine to ten feet tall. I then jolted my head in his direction, and nothing was there. 

   I stared at the entrance of the kitchen, and said something along the lines of, “Okay, well..this was great and all, but I think I’m going to go get some sleep.” I then took a deep breath, and ran through the entryway again. You know, that run you did as a kid when you were scared of the dark, so you had to turn off the light as fast as you could, then run like the little pansy you were to hide under your sheets? Yeah, that one. That was me, at 20 years old, running out of my kitchen. Flipping off every light switch as I ran to my bedroom.

   I remember looking back into the darkness, just as I was rounding the hallway to my room. I don’t know why I did this. I think it mainly has to do with me being a fucking idiot, or maybe curiosity. I remember seeing the silhouette still standing there in the entryway of the kitchen. I couldn’t see a face, eyes, or any features whatsoever, but got the creepy feeling that it was looking at me. Luckily, I made it to my room, closed and locked the door, and went on with my night in peace. Well, as peaceful as you can be after experiencing something of that magnitude.

   That was the last time I would have an encounter with black feathers until November of 2011. That, however, is a story for another night. I still don’t know what it was. Research indicates that it could have been any number of things. A warring/guardian angel, a death omen, it could have even been a demon. Quite frankly, either one of those things would have scared me shitless. Jesus himself could show up, and I’d probably cry my eyes out, because I, ladies and gentlemen, am what’s commonly referred to as a pussy. If any of you have similar stories, or questions about mine, feel free to send me an email. Just click on the contact button to the right. As always, thanks for reading, and be sure to tell your friends!

                     Until Next Time,
                     Scott Walker 

     Alright, it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. I do apologize, but this job hunt has been taking up a great deal of my time. With that being said, I’ve decided I will regale you fine readers with a short story blended together seamlessly by four very different ingredients; myself, Eva, brownie mix, and a telephone.

    I’m going to begin this story by listing just a few of the red flags that were brought to my attention during my pursuit of Eva. We’ll go ahead and tally these up as cons:

• She was 18 years old
• She had 2 children
• She was currently in a relationship
• Her boyfriend was in a gang, and had previously killed 3 people
• I was on the list as number 4 
• My life was threatened numerous times
• That sleazebag had given her HPV
• She assumed that because I wouldn’t sleep with her, I didn’t like her
• Her family was beyond crazy

Just to name a few. However, it wouldn’t be fair unless I also weighed in the pros that I encountered. So, here are the pros:

• She was fucking hot

Alright! Now that we’ve painted that picture, I think maybe it’s time to get back to my original story. Rest assured, this is just one of many stories featuring Eva. I’ll be sure to post more in future updates. 

      Anyway, back to our story. Eva would call me usually twice a day, at least. One day, in particular, she called me around noon. I was in the middle of baking brownies, as I promised that I’d whip her up a batch. Upon hearing that, she seemed to be overjoyed. Granted, I didn’t take this too deep into consideration because, I too, am quite the fan of delicious baked goods.

      We were talking for no more than fifteen minutes, when I started to notice that she would pause from conversation for a solid ten seconds every few minutes. I thought it a bit strange so eventually I brought it up to her. This is the conversation to the best of my memory:

    Me: “If you’re busy, I can let you go.”
    Eva: “What? No. It’s fine, keep going..” 
    Me: “It sounds like you’re running.”
    Eva: “I’m not, I’m just laying down.”
    Me: “Why are you breathing so heav…”
    Eva: “…what?”
    Me: “…Are you..?”
    Eva: “Am I what?”
    Me: “…fingering yourself?”
    Eva: “…no”
    Me: “No, you totally are.” 
    Eva: “Okay. Sorry, but you really turn me on.”
    Me: “How?”
    Eva: “I don’t know, just all the sweet things you do for me..”
    Me: “Are you saying that the thought of me baking these brownies turns you on?”
    Eva: “I guess. I don’t know. I just really want to be with you…you know?”
    Me: “Definitely..”
    Eva: “You probably think I’m fucking weird.”
    Me: “Oh, no. I’m flattered. My baking is orgasmic. It’s good to know.”

     That conversation went on for another twenty minutes or so. She later came over to pick up her brownies. However, upon finding out that my mother was asleep, she quickly insisted that we take the party into my room. As usual, my mother woke up within a good thirty seconds of Eva and my alone time. Well played, Ma.

     I should clarify, I never did sleep with Eva. Every fiber of my being wanted to, but truth is, I knew what she had, and unfortunately my mother raised me a bit better than that. That’s actually why her and I never dated. She assumed that because I wouldn’t fuck her, that I clearly wasn’t interested in her. Chick’s a twist. I guess if there is one thing I want you all to learn from this experience of mine, it is this; those brownies were fucking delicious…

             Until next time,
             -Scott Walker 

      Remember back to a simpler time when kids were adorable little orbs of potential, jam packed with ridiculously cute catch phrases, and an overall cheery outlook on this constant shit storm we refer to as life? Not to completely shatter the spirit of our beloved Mr. Cosby, but the times are a’ changing Bill, and from the looks of it, there’s not a damn thing to be done to better the situation! …or is there?

      Growing up, my friends and I had an endless supply of things to keep our minds busy throughout those long summer days. All of which were outdoor activities, that taught us about exercise, friendship, and the eternal bond of brotherhood. We’d waste our days away, riding our bikes to the park, catching lizards in the middle of the desert, making home movies, and having lightsaber battles with choreography that would leave Qui Gon Jinn on the floor, defenseless, in a puddle of his own tears. Fact is, we were out, we were productive, we had fun, but we were also respectful of all those silly rules put in place by the elderly (whether or not we understood why they were there.)

       These days kids are an absolute mess. Finding one that is respectful of authority is like finding a Goth kid in a pile of Emo’s. I hear kids no older than seven years old, dropping F bombs, S bombs, D bombs, A bombs, and even the occasional C bomb. I see kids fresh from the vag talking about bitches and sex as if their balls dropped decades ago. Not only is this buckets of disrespect, and in all honesty it’s down right worthy of a throat punch followed by a quick leg sweep. Not that I’d ever consider doing that to a child (I totally would.) Fact is, this not only makes the children themselves look bad, but it also makes the parents look bad.

       Honestly, I’m not pointing the finger at most parents. Though there are parents that shouldn’t leave the house without strapping on a helmet, sometimes they have no idea that their kid is acting like the retarded offspring of Satan himself. I’m pointing the finger at the media (how original), kids are exposed to this stuff almost on a daily basis. Fuck, most school buses listen to mainstream radio stations on the way to dropping these little bastards off at their designated learning stations. What is it again that we’re hearing on mainstream radio stations? Oh yeah, that’s right, lifeless rappers ‘singing’ about cappin’ people in the streets, robbing banks, fuckin bitches, and making money selling dope. How the FUCK are we still wondering why children are the way they are these days? How can we expect our children not to be influenced by this filth, if we expose them to it on a daily basis?

The Rundown: Kids are constantly taking in their surroundings, it’s how they grow, it’s how they expand their knowledge of how things work. They’re just little sponges, soaking up whatever life throws their way. If we want our children to start respecting authority, and actually working to become something of value, we’ve got to start putting our foot down on what it is they’re exposed to. They don’t know the difference between right and wrong, it’s our job to teach them, and the easiest way to go about that is to be good role models. Instead of watching Kill Bill while juniors on the couch with you, watch something a bit more age appropriate. If you’re in the car with your child, and some deadbeat douche bag comes on the radio talking about the women he’s fucked and the drugs he’s taken, try putting on something that will possibly help him out in the long run. Kids are only as disrespectful as we teach them to be. So maybe it’s time we start acting like the role models we’re supposed to be. Suck it.

      I’ve always had a secret fascination with stories regarding unexplainable paranormal experiences. Especially due to the fact that I have been through quite a few, myself. Although I’ve experienced my fair share of strange happenings, very few of them have been outside of my house, and only one of them have ever taken place while I was with a friend. Well, until 2009, that is. 

      A buddy of mine was going through a pretty harsh divorce, and I was trying to be there for him, now more than ever. He was living at his brothers house, about twenty minutes away from where I lived, so I did my best to go visit as often as I could. One night in particular, we were sitting in his brothers living room. He had told me that he planned to go down to his house, to pick up a few of his belongings, and he asked if I wanted to tag along. Although I was exhausted, I told him that I would definitely be down to go along for the ride. 

      I let him know that I needed to head back to my house to pick up a few things if I’d be staying the night at his brothers, and told him that I’d be back within the hour. He insisted on coming with me, and since he had been drinking pretty heavily that night, I didn’t want to leave him there alone. So we hopped in my car, and headed back to my place. 

      We we’re at my house for no longer than ten minutes. I left the room for a few seconds, and came back to find him sprawled out on my bed, talking on the phone. I wasn’t really paying attention to him, because I was too busy gathering everything that I’d need for the next day. I turned around to find him passed out, with the phone still held to his ear. As funny as this sight was, I didn’t waste much time before waking him up. 

     I helped him into the car, and we started our journey back to his brothers house. I had just turned onto North Loop, a mere twenty seconds from my house. The car was quiet. I was getting a little upset with the car in front of me for going so goddamn slow. As we were getting closer to the gas station, I glanced to my left and noticed a small child running toward the road. He couldn’t have been more than twenty feet in front of the car that I was behind. 

     My heart started beating faster as I saw him begin running across the road. I freaked out, knowing that the car in front of me didn’t have enough time to stop. To my surprise the driver didn’t even attempt to stop, I thought for sure that little boy was going to get hit. That’s when things got interesting.

     I lost sight of the boy as he ran in front of the car, but very quickly regained sight of him…as he passed through the car ahead of me. The car passed entirely through this child, and so did we. I saw him emerge from the rear end of the ahead of me, and completely pass through my windshield. As I glanced up to look in the rear view mirror, I saw nothing. Not a trace of anything that had happened. 

     I was quietly freaking out, trying to understand what had just taken place. I assumed that my friend was doing the same thing, since he didn’t make a peep throughout the entire experience. As freaked out as I was, I was also relieved that finally someone had been through one of these frightening experiences with me! I looked over and said word for word, “Holy fuck. Did you just see that?” Turns out that my buddy had fallen asleep, and missed the entire thing. 

     The crazy thing, is that this ghost runner didn’t skip a beat. He ran from the left side of the road, to the right, without even noticing the two cars heading in his direction. Even when we passed right through him, he didn’t slow down, or look around. He just kept the same running position. I thought it was a bit strange, but by the time we got to my buddies brothers place I had practically forgotten about it. Thinking back now, that is the only friend that I’ve ever experienced anything like this with. The first encounter was at his house, and he was wide awake. Maybe he’s as open to this kind of shit as I am, but that’s a story for another night though.

     If any of you guys have interesting paranormal stories, or even questions about the shit that I post, feel free to send any questions or comments to Scott@TragicallyHilarious.com, I’d love to hear from you.

      It was 2006, and I had just turned 16 years old. Like many other teenagers, ripe with testosterone, my biggest priority was to find a decent girl to call my own. Lacey was that girl. I had my eyes set on her for quite some time. Although I knew her as a child, we never really spent too much time together unless our parents were having a get together. It wasn’t until the summer of 2005 that I really started showing interest in her. She had become a regular at my church’s Wednesday night youth group service. That’s when we started talking more frequently. 

      She had everything. The looks, the personality, and she laughed at all my shitty jokes. I wanted to ask her out for several months before I actually got the courage to do so. I had just gotten a job at the local McDonald’s, and knowing that I was at the top of my game, I thought there was no better time than the present to make that happen. I approached her the way I approach many unsuspecting females; awkward as fuck. After several minutes of petty conversation, I finally built up the courage to ask her out, and to my surprise, she said yes.

      I was on cloud nine. You know that feeling when you chase after something for so long, and after countless hours of building flow charts and diagrams to map out a solid game plan, you finally claim your prize? That was the feeling that poured over me for the entirety of Lacey and my relationship. All three weeks of it…

      Yeah, that’s right. I had taken months out of my busy schedule of playing video games, slapping ham, and making mcchickens to concentrate all of my will power on winning this girls heart, and it lasted for three goddamn weeks. I was devastated. So devastated, in fact, that I would ask random strangers for advice on how to rid myself of these dreaded breakup blues. Lacey had a best friend. A land manatee of sorts, by the name of Crystal. Lacey would tell Crystal everything. I figured if there was any surefire way of getting to the bottom of this breakup, I would need to befriend this creature, and gain her knowledge on the situation. 

     We had been talking for a couple weeks, when one night I brought up the topic of Lacey’s 17th birthday party. I told Crystal that I was kind of hurt by the fact that Lacey hadn’t invited me. That’s when the truth finally came out. Crystal, who was currently angry with Lacey, over something minuscule that I can’t quite remember, suddenly began spilling the beans on the whole situation. She told me that the reason I wasn’t invited was because it was a “girls only” sleepover. That’s fine, teenage girls do that shit all the time, I thought. 

     Crystal proceeded to tell me that, not only was it girls only party, but it was more of a lesbian get together. This conversation took place almost 6 years ago, so it’s a little fuzzy, but I believe it went something like this; 

         Me: Hmmm.. 
         Crystal: Yeah, so that’s why she didn’t invite you.
         Me: Because she didn’t want her boyfriend to get mad that she’s a lesbian?
         Crystal: Basically. I dont know. Lacey was making out with a couple girls.
         Me: That probably explains why we never kissed.
         Crystal: She thinks really highly of you Scott, but yeah, she’s a lesbian.
         Me: So, my girlfriend was cheating on me with other girls?
         Crystal: Yeah.

      I’d like to tell you all that I had something witty lined up to lighten the mood of the conversation, but truth be told, I was devastated. This was the 3rd lesbian that I had dated, and I was starting to see a pattern. I’m not going to go into details, but that church had a slew of lesbian girls just lurking in the shadows. Unfortunately, I was caught up in that bullshit for several years. It wasn’t until after Lacey and I split, that I found my way out. It was at the hands of a coworker that I would soon find myself falling in love. A beautiful young woman by the name of Babydoll. The soon to be love of my pathetic little life. But that’s a story for another night. 

      I guess the moral of this story is simple; church is the last place you want to find a woman. 

         Folks, there was a time when, like most young teenage boys, I was fixated on one girl in particular. A girl that I was certain would one day be mine. That girl, my friends, was the one and only Hilary Duff. Now, did I have a plan to win over the heart of this teeny bop sensation? Of course not, why would I? The world would intervene in some divine miracle and she would just mysteriously fall in love with someone she had yet to meet. Typical teenage logic.

         The fact of the matter is I didn’t care if she ended up with me or not. Truth be told, I was content with the constant fantasies, and slapping ham. However, my infatuation with Ms. Duff did lead me to become somewhat obsessive when it came to lining my walls with her memorabilia. If memory serves me correct, I had a poster of her on each one of my walls. As well as an additional smaller poster on the wall closest to my bed. My love for the illustrious Hilary Duff kept growing, until one night that I remember quite well. 

         I was sixteen. I woke up to a man standing at the foot of my bed. The room was dark, but he had a natural luminescence about him. I could make him out perfectly amidst the surrounding darkness. Unlike most of the experiences I have during the night, I was completely calm. I sat there staring at him for what felt like a lifetime of silence, but in all reality couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. During that time, I noticed that his face kept shifting into different people. People that I knew. For those of you that have seen A Scanner Darkly, it’s similar to the suits they wore in that movie, except this shift was only happening to his face. I’ll come back to that later. 

         The first thing he did was glance over at my wall, staring directly at the small Hilary Duff poster I had pinned up. He smiled, then looked back at me, saying “You know that’s got to come down, right?” Now, I don’t know why I responded the way I did, but my reply was word for word, “How do you expect me to do that?” He gave me a look of confusion, followed by another smile, and said “How else would you take it down?” I was stumped. Like most human beings, you’d think I would just pull out the tacks, and voila, problem solved. However, for some reason, this logic escaped me. What I did was tear the post at the edges, leaving tiny bits of the poster on the wall with the tacks. 

        I tossed the poster down on the ground, and looked back at him. He gave a small laugh and said, “Good.” Then he raised his hand to my forehead, and I fell back to sleep. In the morning, the first thought I had was, “Wow, what a strange dream.” I sat up and glanced over at the wall to see that where once I had a poster, now only sat four thumb tacks with tiny bits of poster stuck underneath. I look to the floor to find the poster, exactly where I had tossed it.

       Thinking back later, I realized that the faces that kept appearing on him were the faces of people who were spiritual leaders in my life. The generic bearded Jesus. My Mother. My Pastor. ect. I still have no idea what it was exactly that I saw that day, but I’ve never been more at peace during an experience like this, so I’m guessing it couldn’t have been bad. 

       Like most unemployed writers, I have a lot of free time on my hands. This next post isn’t so much of an experience that I’ve had, more so it’s a rant compiled from numerous experiences I’ve had over the years. I don’t think I’m alone with my stance on this either. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that not nearly enough people are willing to voice their opinions on the subject, so the end result is, of course, pushing it aside to deal with later. I’m not that guy.

       Over the past couple years I have noticed a great deal of terrifying things that have kept me up at night. At the top of this list is, of course, the rise of yet another Canadian disappointment, Justin Bieber, however that is an entirely different story. What I’d really like to focus on today is the current bond between children and their parents in today’s society. Whether you choose to realize it or not, it would appear that the majority of parents these days are wasting their time trying to be their kids best friend, rather than focusing on raising a child that wont later be deemed a menace to society.

        What newlywed couples eight months shy of finding a newborn baby kickin’ it at their doorstep fail to realize, is children do not need a best friend, those SOB’s come and go all throughout the whole process of growing up. What kids need is a set of mature parents worthy of a family portrait in a sears catalog, parents that will be loving, protective and understanding, but also know where to draw the line when it comes to certain aspects of life. I think (now I may be wrong in assuming this, but it’s okay, because I can write anything I choose without consequence, so suck it) that mommy’s and daddy’s across the nation are stuck in this awkward middle ground, where they don’t want to be labeled as “the bad parent” by both their children and society alike, but at the same time they don’t know how to just say no to their children’s ridiculous demands.

          This needs to stop, because for one, I’m sick of feeling like a piece of shit every time I feel the urge to punch a small child square in the tooth for being disrespectful. Secondly, I’m sick of walking outside to find children fresh from their mothers vag, using a better phone than my broke ass will ever be able to afford. (Side Note: Once again, this is an entirely different article, but what the hell is up with that? Kids don’t NEED phones, have you read their tweets? Me either, but I’m sure they’re just littered with useless bullshit regarding the latest episode of Wizards of Waverly Place. I can only imagine how bad the text messages between these little bastards are. It’s Unnecessary.)

        Lastly, it can only get WORSE from here. Every generation that continues to skip past the disciplinary chapter in their Parenting for Dummies handbook is only going to be responsible for the outcome of further generations! It’s common sense. So don’t you think it’s time we stop catering to every whiney whim that finds it’s way whistling through Juniors missing front teeth, and go back to slapping him in the back of the head for thinking such useless thoughts? I do.

The Rundown: Parents, here’s the thing. Stop being afraid of your kids, they’re supposed to hate you, they’re kids, it’s what they do best. It’s time to start acting like the grown ups we’re supposed to be, and take responsibility for the generations ahead of us. Your kids are going to look up to you regardless, so instead of wasting breath trying to become their best friend, try sacking up and saying “No!” once in a while. It’ll raise morale, give you a bit of a confidence boost, and hell, might even wet a few pairs of panties with the missus along the way!

        The experience I’m about to share with you is still, to this day, one of the creepiest encounters that I’ve ever had during the dark hours of the night. Almost, if not equally, as creepy as the girl under my bed. Stay tuned for that one though, I’m gonna be saving that one for a later date. This experience begins like any other..

        I wake up, and immediately grab my phone. I’m thrilled to find that it’s only 2:30 in the morning. This means that I’ve still got a solid five hours before I actually need to be awake. I lay my head down on my pillow, and shut my eyes.

       ”Help me..” 

       And just like that I’m wide awake. I sit up, and look around the room hoping that the voice I had just heard was my mind playing tricks on me as I would slowly drift off to sleep. Of course, as in most situations, what I’d hoped is rarely the case. What I would give to be right, just one time. 

         ”Please, help me..” 

        I hear it again. This time, sitting straight up in my bed, I know that this is definitely coming from somewhere in my room. I look behind me, and notice that my pillow seems just a bit more lopsided than usual. If I would’ve known that the image of what I was about to see would stick with me the rest of my life, I might’ve reconsidered what I did next.

         I grab the pillow, and slowly turn it towards me. I lean over and raise the flap of my pillowcase so I can sneak a peek inside. A torso. I found myself staring at the torso of a man. His legs and arms seemed to have been either blown off, or amputated. Still how he got inside my pillowcase was beyond me. I didn’t really care to find out either, if I can be brutally honest. 

Out of nowhere, the mans head rises up from the back of the pillowcase (previously unseen by me) he looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Please.. HELP ME!” I freak out, close the pillowcase, and toss it off my bed. I sit there in silence, heart pounding, for what must of been a couple of minutes, just staring at the pillowcase I had just thrown to the ground. 

There was no further movement from it, and I figured that if he didn’t have arms or legs, there’s no way that he could get back up on the bed. I grabbed one of my other pillows very cautiously. Glanced inside, and was ecstatic to find that it was just an ordinary pillow. Matter of fact, I don’t think that I’ve ever been so relieved to see a $2 pillow before in my life. I decided to go back to sleep, and deal with it in the morning. 

Now, I have no idea what or why that happened that night. All I know is that the image of that man is forever burned into my mind. It was one of the most realistic experiences that I’ve ever had. I know that there are still plenty of skeptics, that would say I’m rambling on about a dream I had. To them I say, I wish it was a dream. However, since I don’t have proof of said experience, it looks like you’re just going to have to take my word for it. 

The following is a chronicling of the worst 24 hours of my life. Each individual aspect of this story isn’t so terrible on its own, but as many of you know; when small problems start to stack up, the end result is never going to be a pretty one. This day started like any other, at work. Now, being a fast food restaurant, work was usually where the majority of my days noteworthy annoyances would stem from. Today was different.

Work was surprisingly nice. It wasn’t until after I clocked out, that my day would begin to take a turn for the worst. It was payday, and that alone is usually a cause for celebration. However, on this particular payday I would not be leaving the bank a happier man. In fact, quite the opposite. The teller informs me that my account had been over drafted twice, which would leave me with about $60 less just to cover to fees alone. 

I get in the car, and sit there in silence as I think about what I’m going to do. I remember that I still owe my dad $50, which ensures that I won’t have enough money to buy groceries this week. I keep my chin up, and tell myself I could stand to lose a few pounds anyway. The glass is still half full. I decide to go drop off the money that I owe my dad, while it’s still fresh in my mind. 

I arrive at my parents house to find that my sister is there visiting as well. I decide to skip the usual banter and head straight to my dads room to drop off the money. My sister comes in and decides to ask what my problem is. Now, although I’m upset, I try to maintain a steady demeanor. I tell her that it’s just been a tough day, and that it looks like I don’t have money for groceries due to some unpleasant circumstances I’ve found myself in. No big deal. I walk passed her, she’s still asking my questions about my current situation. I tell her not to worry about it. It get’s to the point where we are suddenly yelling back and forth at each other over just about nothing. 

In the heat of the argument, I decide it’s best that I leave. I try to go to the table to grab my phone. My sister grabs my hand and screams, “What’s the matter with you?” I scream some unpleasant reply and tell her to let go of me. She doesn’t. I say, “I don’t need this shit.” and decide that my phone can wait. I take my keys and leave. On the drive back to my house, I’m literally shaking, just trying to calm myself down. I reach my place, and again, sit in the car for a minute or two trying to pull myself together. 

I enter my house to see my roommates kicking it on the couch, watching TV. Now, I’m sure we all know the feeling where you tell yourself you’re fine, and say that you’re not going to get all emotional. Then, without warning you begin to breakdown in front of everyone you know. Well, that happened. I decided to save face and head straight to my room. As I walk through the door, I throw my messenger bag down on my bed. I wish I was making the following up, it is that unbelievable. The bag itself, hit the bed with such force, that it literally bounced about a foot high, and slammed right into my wall. My walls, by the way, were apparently paper thin. As soon as the bag made impact, it left about a five inch hole where my wall used to be. 

Fucking perfect. That was it, that was the straw that broke this camels back. I break down. Tears. Weird noises. The usual stuff that guys try to hide, but can never seem to pull it off. My roommates come into my room to see what’s going on. All I can say is, “I can’t do it anymore, guys..” I’m sitting there at the foot of my bed. A hollow shell of what used to be a happy man, balling my eyes out. My buddy sit’s down, and puts his arm around my shoulder letting me know that things will be alright. I needed that. They tried to cheer me up, and promised that we’d fix the wall. 

At that moment, I knew that if I could find a way to see my girl, things would be better. They had to be. She made the very world around her more vibrant just by her presence alone. I text her, and tell her about my God awful day, and ask if it’d be alright if I went to see her for a bit. She lived about twenty minutes away by car, but at the time I didn’t care. She, of course, said she absolutely wanted to see me. I knew that things were going to look up. The glass is still half full!

I get up, straighten myself out, thank my roommates for their support, and head back out to the car. I get inside, blasting feel good music that would lift my spirits for the drive. I get about three streets down, and out of nowhere my steering wheel locks up. I pull over to the side of the road, and just assume it’s a fluke of some sort. I turn the engine off, and let it sit for a moment before trying to start it again. Nope. The fucking piece of shit died, right then and there. 

At this point, I can do nothing but laugh. And laugh, is exactly what I do for a solid five minutes before I call my roommates to pick me up. The glass is no longer half full. As a matter of fact, it is now a full glass, a full glass filled to the brim with shit. So much shit, that it is pouring out onto my recently cleaned counter top, and there’s not a damn thing that I can do about it..