“oh, fan-fucking-tastic, so why won’t the world just stab me in the back or drop a damn anvil on me while it’s at it?” alana snarled, twisting her head to press her cheek against the phone on her shoulder. strands of her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead while some pieces found their way into her mouth. nostrils flared, she stared down at the mess of journals that had fallen out of her arms, the papers crumpling together. a thunderstorm formed inside of her head, thunder and lightning crashing around her brain. too many things going on, too many things happening, just too many things -- alana glared down at the ground before dropping the heavy bag of sports equipment onto the ground. “fucking shoot me...” she slowly crouched down with full intentions to pick her journals up but the exhaustion got to her. alana sighed loudly and sat back, her stuff scattered around her as if she was claiming that spot of the walkway.