I officially hate mold. Mold is ruining my house, and my head.
You know how I'm living in the guest room now? Well, we moved the table out of the dining room so my sister could live in there. There was a hanging decorative light thing that hung down over the table. With the table gone, anybody could bang their head on it. It's happened a few times already. More than a few times. Several times. Many times. Zillions of times. It hurts throbbingly for about four minutes, then you can move on with your life. However, I managed to settle myself directly under the lethal houseware without noticing as I chatted with the sis. Then I remembered that I needed to take my laundry out of the dryer. So I leaped up with great gusto to go get it. Then--BAM--my head rams into the light-thing, sending me right back down onto the floor. Ow-w-w. I hit it so hard that the glass thingies that covered the bulbs popped right out and smashed onto the ground. My sister screamed. My mom came trotting over, looked at her crouching daughter surrounded by hunks and splinters of sharp-edged broken glass, and announced, "That's a big mess." She made me vacuum it all up until she noticed my head was bleeding. I was dismissed to swab away the blood. Thanks, Mumzers.
I pressed a paper towel on my head. It came away red. I wondered a little bit why it didn't hurt more than it did. I folded another towel to press on the bloody spot. Discarded it. Pressed another. Got one wet and pressed it. Pressed one last dry one. Finally the bleeding stopped. It didn't even hurt anymore. I guess that's a good thing, huh? In the morning, the spot was crusty when I touched it. Eww. I crumbled dry blood out of my hair as I took a shower, watching in disgust as it swirled down the drain. Yuck.
If there hadn't been any mold, my sister would never have had to live in the dining room. If she hadn't, the table would still be in there, and there would have been no opportunity to clunk my head on the chandelier-type thingy. That is why I hate mold, folks. That is indeed why.
Okay, now that that relatively slapstick story is over, how about let's get serious and deep, hm? I was just thinking today. Everybody works hard to make themselves nice and kind and caring, and funny and helpful and cool and fun and, you know, all that. But if you slip up just once you lose all of that. Then you're either annoying, catty, selfish, stupid, conceited, or just generally a bad person. It only takes once to screw up, you know? And then for the rest of your life, (or at least for a sizable amount of time) you suck.
Does that make sense at all? I don't know. Just try not to screw up and you don't even have to understand it.