Sure enough

It hasn't been a week, and I'm already moody/mean as all hell.
I walk around like a zombie... I respond with monosyllabic grunts when shaking/nodding my head seems like too laborious a task, and I curl up on the bed/sofa/floor and fall asleep within minutes during random times of the day.
Then tomorrow... ugh. I'm so scared for the Mexico-France game, I've decided not to watch. Instead, I'm going to run at the gym with my headphones on until the damn match is over.
I'm going to look up the game's result in the same fashion I'd look up my biochemistry/molecular biology/mammalian physiology exam scores: with fear, on an empty stomach, and with lots of tissues... ready to bawl my ass off... and if I'm lucky enough to be home alone, I'm going to scream.

This is fucking torture. Good thing it only comes around once every four years.
(Oh man... and today's Spain game... I could not... I was... living-dead girl, man. I didn't cry because I was too shocked)

P.S. If I hear a Ke$ha song one more time... I'm going to look up that bitch's address, drive to her house, ring her doorbell, and punch her in her throat. Bitch can't sing... if I want to hear a drunk sorority girl mumble, I'll just drop by Maryland and Harmon, shit.