Sundays like these bring me back to when life revolved around nothing but myself. Cleaning up, clearing minds and clutter, indulging and splurging. Kick-back-and-relax days, love-hate-relationship-with-family days, promising days. Saturday nights on the other hand, are for unwinding from an emotionally-zomg week with a barrel of beer. Ditto for Friday nights and red bull vodka. Hee. Emotional ZOMG in every possible way, from school to its axis to my poor abused atm. Hurhur. Surprisingly there were many moments this week when I really just had nothing to say. No words to form, no thoughts to string into a mess of meaningless words, nothing. I somehow doubt that is slash will be suffice should this bleakness drag though. Hmm. Maybe it's because I understand the consequences when fucking hurtful words spill out like knives. Wounds and scars you can never undo. Mind fucking in all it's fucking glory, smiling maniacally at the back of your mind, beaming at our little masquerade of words. You are red, violent red. Really, it greatly saddens and almost disappoints me. On my shiny gray end, I am unsure if this is all just exploding in my head or if it's actually there and no one (hig or not) can explain it to me. Though I don't quite know how many fucking times I have to hear it before it stops sucking. Or gets boring. HAWHAW. Fml.
Well, I'm easily bored.
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