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 ≤: shmile for youuuuu ♫: Katamari Damacy ~ "Angel Flavor's Present"
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