FML, FML, FML, FM bloody L

So it's just been one of those days, you know? I ate waaaay too much chocolate yesterday. In fact I ate virtually nothing but chocolate yesterday, so last night I did what I thought was the sensible thing and went to the school pub for some food. Well, there wasn't much to choose from--they were about to close and anyway, they have too much fried stuff. So I bought an egg salad wrap and ate that, thinking that my stomach (which had been gurgling all day, thanks to the overconsumption of chocolate) would thank me for it. Long story short: BAD IDEA. I felt sick before I even went to bed, and ever since I woke up this morning (way too early might I add) I've felt sick. FML #1.

I have finals, starting on Monday. FML #2.

I can't study for said finals because I feel like someone injected my stomach with Count Chocula's venom. FML #3.

And then the worst FML of them all...

It's so weird what disappoints me sometimes. I mean, really. Most people, if they found out that a ghost story wasn't real, would be relieved. (And usually, I am.) But the whole thing I wrote yesterday? Forget it. The so-called "legend" was revealed to be a fabricated story over a year ago. I should've researched that, instead of relying on my friend for all the answers. I'm considering taking yesterday's post down. Don't want to, though.

I hate this. I don't hate the guy who did it (no, really, I don't--though I do have a bit of an ax to grind with him, as you can clearly tell). I just hate this whole "documented horror" bullshit and the marketing campaign that inevitably comes with it. (Think Blair Witch Project, for example.) I love the idea of creating your own legend, but is it so much to ask that you bloody well SAY it's fiction at the start, instead of winding someone up and letting them think that it's something it's not? Honestly, if I'd known from the start that the whole haunted cartridge thing was just a story, I probably would've enjoyed it more.

Let me just say, I KNOW that when I wrote the post I was all, "but I knew it wasn't real" and "this is what I think REALLY happened." But that was my speculation, and there was still the tiny chance that it was real--and that was what made it so special to me. It was a modern-day ghost story, and it was done so well. Had I known it was fiction, I would've fallen in love with the author on the spot and put it in my bank of maybe-I'll-ask-if-I-can-make-this-film-someday stories.

But no. Instead I couldn't sleep after reading it. But it was the good kind of insomnia, and it meant that I could write. I had files on my computer with character sketches for "Max" and his made-up ghost, photos of potential locations, and ideas for casting. (I work fast when it comes to films.) Now I feel guilty, as if I'd stolen someone else's plot (because, basically, I did). And I'm so incredibly disappointed. All that emotion and excitement and false innovation, over a story that everyone but me already knew was fake.

Is it silly that I want to cry right now?

The hell with it. I need to worry about my finals.