HEY FUCK YOU MAN! don't mean nothing anymore.
Well, whoever told me I'd just love massage therapy must have visited the neighborhood acid doctor, because science bites asshole. I've decided this, and I've also decided that I'm switching to journalism once spring break is over. Chemistry can go fuck itself, quite frankly. My professor is so handicapped in his so-called 'teaching abilities' that I went to my biology professor for help with chemistry. Luckily, he used to teach 101, so maybe I can pass chemistry after all. We hope.
Anyway. Also going on in the near future is a doctor's appointment! Yes, folks, one with a REAL DOCTOR. I kid you not. Being sick since January is just plain fucked up, especially when they tell me basically that they can't do anything about it. Fuck that! They probably made it worse giving me every drug under the sun. Although, I must admit, the stuff that's a knock-off of Sudafed has been a good time. Not gonna lie about that.
Right on. So that's for tomorrow, and then after that Dan's coming over and, well, you get the idea. Suffice it to say, tomorrow's gonna be worth today's mind-stabbing boredom.
I'm starting a book, and since I can't finish one cuntified thing I write, I decided to do the ending first and the do the whole thing with a duality in its nature, like the aftermath of and flashback to the events that started it, just change it up. That's one thing Chucky P's exposed me to that helps writing, is that time and space in a novel is bullshit. You're god in your writing, and if you want to just jump back five years for no real reason, well hey, go for it, if that's what tickles your pickle. I mean the characters and events kind of have to be linear, so people don't go insane, but time? Fuck time.
And I'm out.
Anyway. Also going on in the near future is a doctor's appointment! Yes, folks, one with a REAL DOCTOR. I kid you not. Being sick since January is just plain fucked up, especially when they tell me basically that they can't do anything about it. Fuck that! They probably made it worse giving me every drug under the sun. Although, I must admit, the stuff that's a knock-off of Sudafed has been a good time. Not gonna lie about that.
Right on. So that's for tomorrow, and then after that Dan's coming over and, well, you get the idea. Suffice it to say, tomorrow's gonna be worth today's mind-stabbing boredom.
I'm starting a book, and since I can't finish one cuntified thing I write, I decided to do the ending first and the do the whole thing with a duality in its nature, like the aftermath of and flashback to the events that started it, just change it up. That's one thing Chucky P's exposed me to that helps writing, is that time and space in a novel is bullshit. You're god in your writing, and if you want to just jump back five years for no real reason, well hey, go for it, if that's what tickles your pickle. I mean the characters and events kind of have to be linear, so people don't go insane, but time? Fuck time.
And I'm out.