I lost.
My acquaintances asked me about it and I told them the truth, that I lost. When confronted with this information, they inquired whether I made it to the finals. I had to admit that I flunked out way before then.
Then I got hit with the "At least you had fun." cope. At the time, I smiled and nodded at the cope, knowing that the tournament had been mildly entertaining.
As I write these lines, I am struck with a sense of dread remembering the tournament. Deep in my gut, I feel a constriction, as if my grief is physically manifesting somatically. It's almost as bad as the time I asked out a girl when I was still bluepilled and she rejected me.
Or maybe it's just that I had pizza and coke for lunch and then milk, bread and ham for dinner. I doubt it because it definitely feels like an emotion and not like any other kind of pain. Oh well, guess I'll just curse my life for the remainder of the night until I go to sleep.
