Why is my life not like a watt pad novel?

Well then. DISSAPOINTED!

So today, as all ye tortured teens know, was the first day of school. 
I could just hear a collective shudder ripple across the continent when my alarm went off this morning.
Like seriously, they expect us to get up at 6:30 all of a sudden after falling asleep at 5 am for two months?
Bitch please. I mean, I know that sleeping until two in the afternoon is unhealthy. I know that chocolate syrup isn't the most nutritious lunch.
But ain't these control freaks ever heard of culture shock?
Speaking of lunch, did anybody know that there are in fact three meals a day, not two? I'm sure I wasn't the only one under the impression that there was only lunch and dinner. I really think the government should address this issue. Seriously, cut the crap about the budget and all that jazz. This is serious!
But I digress. The reason I'm moaning about school is that I need the public to truly understand how cruel watt pad can be. Cause as I pulled on my knee socks, kilt, blouse and tie (seriously, do uniform designers have any grasp of the concept of weather?), I couldn't help but feel an inkling of hope for the school year ahead. Maybe it really would be like the books. Maybe I would be popular! Maybe this was my year to shine!
Ha.
The sight of my school crushed those dreams with bulldozer-like delicacy.
Later, sitting in a classroom full of sweaty, nervous, hygienically questionable teenagers, I cursed myself for being so stupid. Despite ranting openly about the unrealism in those stories, I couldn't help but be a teensy, tiny bit hopeful that they were true. You would be too, if you had been reading them all summer! Not only are they addictive, they're brainwashing.
I used to wonder what my last words would be. Now I know.
Envision this; I'll be lying on a bed, 110 years old, surrounded by my tearful family. No, scratch that, surrounded by my cats, wrapped in a purple and orange quilt, glaring at the world. My vocabulary will be just as spicy as it is now, but my last words won't be composed of cusses. No, as my eyes dim and my breathing becomes raspy, I will manage to choke out;
"Get.. that... lying... author.... with....a... spatula...and...tell...her....it's...from..me......"
Isn't that just classic Bb? We all know I'll never really get over the disappointment of high school, and my last thoughts will be of revenge. All the better if it can't be reciprocated.
Everybody out there, I can't impress enough on you that how important it is to stay away from that type of story. I learned too late, now I have an incurable addiction that is more damaging than snorting pixie stix through your ear canal. I am not kidding. This addiction is serious. It's too late for me, but I entreat all of you, with the intensity of Gandalf screaming in the mines of Moria, to run. Escape, while you still can, you fools! Cling to your sanity like its the last pack of gummy worms on the face of the earth. Only by ignoring my warning will you understand just how serious I am.
I have done my duty in the eyes of the people.
You have been warned.
Whew, that was intense. This may not make sense, I wrote this on Tuesday, when the imprisonment began, but my wifi was bunged up, so I couldn't post this till now. Just in case you were wondering about my time zone or whatever.
As usual, thanks so much for taking the time to read this, and sorry for being too lazy to edit;)
-bb