I cannot believe that I'm doing this.

Well, I do believe that I'm doing this, since I'm already doing this, but saying that I cannot believe that I'm doing this, brings me comfort for some reason.

Alas, I'm doing it...so let's get on with it.

My name is Miora Han. It's a pleasure to meet you, I guess. Some people would say that I have a name of a movie star, a model or a videogame/anime protagonist.

Wrong! I'm just a silver haired, fitness freak, witch of a loser. Now, you're probably looking at the text, and thinking that this is going to be an "Oh, woe is me" type of story. If you do think that, rejoice...of the fact that you have thought wrong. Instead of me moping about the shit that happens in my life, I'm going to rant, bitch, and complain about the shit that happens in my life. Ranting is my favorite way to vent, without resorting to hitting people out of blind rage, and It hasn't failed me yet.

Before I go into a pointless tangent on how I deal with my problems, let's get on with what I'm about to do...or to be more specific, what I'm about to tell you.

I'll start off with this. It is very important--no. It is substancially crucial that my Sunday morning rituals are NOT to be interupted for any reason. None whatsoever. My morning ritual goes as follows: I get up. I immediately go to the kitchen to make my breakfast, which comprises of a glass of fresh ginger ale, a packet of organic gummy bears, and a toast sandwich. 

What's a toast sandwich, you may ask? Well, think about it...It's not that hard. It's exactly as you would expect.

I specifically eat this delicious meal, while watching a random episode of Dragon Ball(whether It would be from Z, GT, Super, or the Original). Once I'm finished with my food and the episode is over, I draw a bath for myself, filling tub with lilac flowers and differently scented bath soaps, lighting many candles around said tub, with the scent of Hawaii Shores, eminating from each of the 13 candles I light. I meditate in the water for an hour, with relaxing music playing in the background, and when I'm finished, I clean up whatever I set up within the bathroom, and well...that's it. 

That is the exact overview of my Sunday morning ritual. That's it! It's not much. Since I work eight hours a day, six days a week, as a General Manager of a pregnancy-themed fast food restaurant, living in a rather small apartment with my two girlfriends, boyfriend, and son, who all pick at my sanity in creatively differently ways, I thought that It would be nice to have at least one morning every week, where I can just have some time for me...just a couple of hours.

Unfortunately that was too much to ask for, since as of recent, my "time for myself" got shamelessly ruined by the most ridiculous shit I have ever had to deal with. And, It all started...when my son Terry ate my beautiful toast sandwich, when I least expected it.

Why did he do it? At the moment, I didn't know. I didn't even care to know...I was so livid at that instant, that I just wanted to fucking strangle him and chuck him into the Earth's Orbit. 

When I asked him why he ate my toast sandwich, he just gave me a blank stare as he shruged his shoulders. I told him then, that If he doesn't give me a straight answer in the next ten seconds, that he was going to be in a world of hurt.

Ten seconds later, no response. He kept shrugging his shoulders, smirking, as if he was trying to taunt me. 

At this point, I was shaking in anger, ready to hit my own son, when he suddenly pulls out his smartphone and shows me a very shocking article. A particular PC game that I was looking forward to for the longest time, has been unfortunately been confirmed to have what I dread in videogames: microtransactions, loot crates, and other pay-to-win corprate schemes. When I saw that, I punched a wall near me, signifying how horrible my Sunday has become thus far...and it was still the fucking morning.

Shogunai...