I desperately need to shut out everyone and sit in the tranquility of my room. I imagine myself on a island made of warm blankets and soft pillows with an infinite amount of fluffy socks—where teachers don't exist, and if they do, my island will have guns so I can shoot them and laugh while they scream in pain, all the while I will say, "Now you know how I feel with you in my life, bitches."
At this point, I'm completely demented.
