There are many things in my life that piss me off. Boys, my period, my parents, my siblings, my wardrobe, my hair, school, Mr. Carrow, life skills class, and the list could go on and on. No, not could, it sure as hell does.
I remember on my thirteenth birthday, December 14th, I was inexplicably and completely happy. Every cell in my body stopped their work and jumped up in joy with a huge smile on their miniscule faces. From beginning to end my birthday party was perfect. The presents, the cake, the people. I was a officially a teen.
Now that I think about it, a month from then, becoming a teen was the worst thing that ever happened to me. What was wrong with my life as twelve-year-old that I couldn't contain my joy on a day that I celebrated every year? Nothing.
Before I turned this age, I was fine. I was better than fine. I didn't get pissed off all the time, and other people wouldn't always be pissed off at me; my mom for example. Life was much more convenient when I didn't talk to the opposite sex at all, because I've just discovered that I can't talk to them in the first place! Or I can, but to them it sounds either like gibberish, self-praise, or an argument. So yeah, I'm a failure.
Thirteen is an unlucky number - I've confirmed that only after a month. Because from December 14th to now, everything changed, everything moved, and everything got lost. It all fell apart and there are just one too many pieces to pick up.