Oscar
I'm fucking grumpy. It'd suck if I bled next week. I'm excited and overwhelmed. I'm full of curry. I'm bruised and bruised. Finally got a hicky. I'm tired and cranky and tired and tired. Tired physically (I got up early to dye my hair) and I'm tired emotionally. I'm not going to get into that. Not here. Not in real life. Maybe in real life. I'm sad. But I'm happy. I'm sad about shit that I can't change and that won't change; if the shit changed, nothing would be the same. I'm excited. I'm eager. I'm relieved. I'm antsy. I'm flipping the bird at the whole world. I am content. I feel guilty. I feel tired of feeling guilty. I want to scream every time I feel guilty. I want to scream. I want to punch something. I want to be in bed. I want to tear something apart. I want to tell everyone exactly how they make me feel. And I want everyone to feel like shit. I want everyone to be happy. I love.
I want too much.
I want too much.