I moped tonight. I walked around, my arms swinging limply, my head down so low my chin touched my chest, my lower lip sticking out. I had no reason to mope, and yet, I moped. I wasn't sad, I wasn't bored, I wasn't melancholy, I was mopey. The term "mope" has lost all meaning to me.
...
That was last night. We made it to the DMV at 8:10am, finished up the car registration (3 months after I procured the car), got the Vespa registered ($298! Jesus Christ!), and took our motorcycle tests. I passed, barely, and Aaron failed his miserably the first time but they had him take it again right after and he passed it. Thank God, because I may know how to mope but Aaron wrote the book on it. We're going to pick up the goddamn thing after my English class and then argue about who gets to scoot around the rest of the day. I think I'm going to win that argument because, well, that's just the way it's going to have to be.