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.