⇒ Be Gamzee.
Summer. How you hate it. The sun. The heat. Everything. It's the worst season of the year. All the family reunions. Tourists. Drugs cost almost triple the amount as usual, because nobody has anything else to do when they aren't in school. You prefer Spring and Autumn. You can wear black without getting too hot. Which means you don't have to worry about sweating off your make-up and having your pants and t-shirt clinging to you. These humid Summer days always make Karkat grumpier. Another reason you prefer any other season. Karkat probably hated Summer more than you ever could, although you don't know why. What did he tell you his favorite season was? Oh, right. Winter. Winter is alright, but it's a little cold for your liking. It's definitely better than sitting on your couch sweating your ass off, though.
You're sitting upside down on your couch. The blood flowing to your face, making it heavy and turning your hidden face a shade of pink. The grey and white clown make-up you had put on earlier is smudged and running up your forehead along with beads of perspiration. Black, wavy hair is plastered to your face. Your t-shirt is crumpled into a ball somewhere on the other side of the room where you had thrown it about an hour ago, your polka-dot pants stick uncomfortably to your body. What was the temperature in here anyways? You glance at the wall, searching for the thermostat. It's not there. You groan, forcing yourself to move awkwardly back into a sitting position, before you stand up and walk over to the wall behind you. The thermostat's red pointer is aimed at 108 degrees. Not as bad as yesterday when it was almost 120 degrees. You try turning the temperature down, but it won't budge. It's already down as far as it'll go. Ugh. Today is going to be a long day.
You can't remember the last time you took a hit. Obviously it was less than a few hours ago, but your buzz is already fading. Thinking back, you recall running low on your miracle plants and decide it's not a good idea to take another hit. There won't be any money in your bank account until Friday, and it was only Monday. Rationing your supply until then would probably be a good idea. You could always just ask Karkat to loan you some bank, but knowing him, he'd probably just yell at you and call you a fuckass.
Being sober was the worst. It was worse than summer. Worse than being kicked in the stomach. Worse than Karkat's mood swings. Being sober turned you into a cynical asshole. Or at least it felt that way. When you were stoned, everything was a miracle, it was all happy, and nothing could bother you, not even Karkat's asinine comments. So far, your buzz has lasted for a good hour and a half. If your thought process was right, you should still have another two hours. You don't want to waste your two hours, so you decide to go do something miraculous, although you haven't decided what exactly. there were always five things that were a good thing to do in this situation. One thing would be to turn on the television and watch a salt and pepper war, then bet on who would win, salt or pepper. Pepper always wins, but you still bet on salt every time. One day, salt might just win the war, you never know. Another thing you could do is go climb a tree, and watch the world while hanging upside down from a high branch. Everything is more miraculous when it's upside down, it's like you're in another dimension, an upside down or backwards dimension at that. You could also play The Simz and make an outrageous house, with outrageous residents, with funny faces and clothing. It's always good to broaden the horizons of your imagination and creativity. Then, there's always the wash machine. You could get some chores done and entertain yourself with that. You knew it was a great idea to get a wash machine like the ones at the laundromat. Watching the clothes swirl around and around with the soap suds could entertain anyone for hours on end. The last thing you could do is bake something. That was always fun. Especially when you don't even know what you're baking until it's done. It's a good thing your baking instincts were miraculous. You always bake amazing midnight munchies. If a food critic were to rate your baked goods, they'd give you a rainbow colored 10 stars out of 5.
You are feeling kind of lazy, so you flop yourself back on the couch, situating yourself upside down. Grabbing the remote, you click on the television. The static roars as the salt and pepper specks brutally fight to the death. Ah, this shit never gets old.