My eyes and my crotch just hurt...endlessly, no reprieve, I don't even care.
I can't be happy for anyone.
I bristle at PRAISE, anymore.
Tax forms read like HTML, I'm exhausted, I'm not dead.
I've got no clean clothes. Every pair of pants I own stink.
The only reason I'm NOT dead is because I have small small small goals.
My LJ has become this little blurb universe, where I tell you dumb, small things in dumb, small ways.
I've still never played this game.
I'm gonna catch a bus out, get a haircut. Thinking that'll do me some good.
HA HA HA HA HA dumb motherfucker.
I can't imagine how I'd suddenly deal with a real problem.
Fweh. Seeya round.
Tags: chances are,
disintegration,
final use of tags,
overwhelmed,
unbound and irrational hatred Current Mood: 
shmile for youuuuu
Current Music: Katamari Damacy ~ "Angel Flavor's Present"