Lateness

Despite me wincing a little at the grammar and use of i (as opposed to I) I will upload my uncut, rant to myself that I wrote in my phone, on the way to Uni this morning. As you can probably tell, I was late. I like writing on my phone, you can't as write as fast as you can with a keyboard, so the words are a little more considered. Plus I'm usually bored when I do it, so another side of me comes across.


Oh and this picture (over there <--) definitely deserves to be online in some shape or form.

It's a strange thing being late. I hate it. In fact, i can't stand it. I see my tardiness as a strength, reliable enough to put your house on. But right now, i'm on the bus, late. Really late. Not suprising when you wake up two hours later than normal. But what is bizarre about my psyche is that i can't blame myself. It was the "stupid" alarm clock that didn't wake me up. Despite me forgetting to set it, it's definitely the clock's fault. Stupid clock - it's made me late. And the bus, perfectly on time. But it didn't come when i got to the bus stop. How dare it not, it's made me late too. Analysing the way i've looked at these things, i can say it's definitely my fault. I take responsibility, hang me on the cross. But no one will care ... Except me.