Mitt me, babycakes!

In case you're wondering, "mitt me" is 30's slang for "congratulate me."
I WROTE MY MAGNA CARTA ESSAY! Aren't you so proud? I think it's really good, too. Mom also figured out what was wrong with my schoolwork. So today I had schoolwork up the wazoo. I did pretty well, though. I'm not, of course, a really great student. I pretty much have and average of Bs. Occasional As and Cs, but mostly Bs.
Now that I've typed that I feel stupid...
Um, that's pretty much what I did today. My arms are sore because my cat, Pippin, decided that my arm would be a good scratching post. They actually look better today than they did last night. The lesser welts are gone. Now I just have a ton of puncture wounds. Not fun a-tall, a-tall. They look sweet, though. In addition to the puncture wounds, I have a ginormous scratch on my arm from running into the railing on our stairs. So my elbow hurts when I lean it against something.
I found The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. I don't know if I mentioned that I couldn't find it. It was from the library, that's why I was worried. I also lost and found my notes for school. Now I can't find my general notebook.
I think I'm a ditz. If so, that pretty much sucks. Although that means I'm kind of funny to some people.
It also means that I'm incredibly annoying to other people. The problem is, people almost never tell you outright that they think your stupid and annoying. They usually act like they like you pretty well.
This is where the paranoia sets in, like a bad case of gangrene. Ha. Is there such a think as a good case? I used to think it was G-A-N-G SPACE G-R-E-E-N. And yes, I do realize I could have just typed it normally. I don't care.
Tomorrow I have choir. *sighs* I don't want to have to get up. I want to SLEEEEEEEP all the days. Oh well. I hope I don't miss it or something.
In conclusion, I'm going to marry Napoleon Dynamite when I grow up (Not the actor, I mean Napoleon himself.).