MISFORTUNE:                                    


      "Misfortune." Such an ugly word, in my opinion. My fellow word enthusiasts, Charles Merriam and Noah Webster, define it as (and this is excerpted from their actual website) "an event or conjunction of events that causes an unfortunate or distressing result : bad luck." Spot on depiction of the word, fellas, but nothing quite compares to EXPERIENCING misfortune firsthand. Some may classify misfortune as being grounded for a week after killing a man (for those lucky bastards that get away with lenient parents). Others may classify it as being caught playing tonsil hockey with another woman (you know who you are). I personally classify it as suffering at the hands of another. Let's say a vile woman -for identity purposes, I will continually refer to her as "Procreator"- who incidentally is 50% responsible for my creation, is a biomasochist (a term I created that adequately describes her, in which she is so unjustly upset that she enjoys seeing the world and all of its inhabitants writhe in pain) and enjoys creating misfortune. I, as her creation, am subject to the fullest extent of her biomasochism.

     Most recently, she decided to introduce some fresh, unused tactics to try to extend that misfortune. I can't thoroughly get into it, but let's just say she revoked something that I was in DESPERATE NEED OF, and without said thing, I would spend a lot of time in solitude. Yes, I understand that this a vague and shallow outlining of misfortune, but for those of you who know me and my current situation well, you will understand exactly what I'm talking about. For those of you in the dark, just know it was a treacherous plot that went perfectly in her favor, and I am currently living through the after-effects of it. In short, I was deprived of my comfort, my ability to feel like I am at home, loved, and welcome in my environment. As I type these very words, I am sitting in a cold room with eerily familiar walls and a sense of desperation to have that long-awaited feeling of home return to me. You see, that is what I classify as TRUE misfortune - to eradicate a being's entire sense of who or where they are. It's simply inhumane. I just hope that these next three weeks pass with ease, that way the warm and fuzzy feeling inside me will be restored and I can continue to supply you (the reader) with words that are hopefully happier than these. If not, I will  remain in fetal position for the remainder of my years. Or join a cult. Just a thought.