(no subject)

[lessthegift]

I get a smirk on my face the moment I contemplate how I'm going to articulate this particularly poisonous mood. This is the same delight that shuts me up in the bathroom with a jug of bleach and bleeding arms from each time I tried to take a screw out of the ceiling. I hate everyone. I am so full of this bitterness that I can't do anything but take pleasure in it. You have to take it where it lies. I didn't see the Melvins, although I did stand in line for nearly an hour. I can't explain why I didn't go in because it makes no sense. It would be simpler to explain the rift in space and time that opened and swallowed me whole. I swear looking forward to things gets harder and harder. Conor apparently has something wrong with his finger that I'm not really interested in sympathizing with.

I'm convinced everyone else is an idiot and a waste of time and I wonder why I don't make things change.

I'll elaborate: I am sick of doing everything for everyone else.

Oh, irritating world. You are the lemon in my massive open papercut.