Or am I alone in this hall of dreams?
I believe in you, you believe in me
But I have no trust in anything
Somehow I'm always - always falling over me
Somehow I'm always - I'm always falling over me...
I'm running out of scalpel blades.
This pleases me not at all. Because I have not the means to acquire more; the bastard things are expensive as far as small bits of stainless steel go and I've only got £40 worth of this month's rent saved. And I have yet to get Ben a nameday gifting.
To make matters more 'interesting', the bookshop no longer requires my services on sundays. Exactly when this kicks in I have yet to find out since I have only been told in an unofficial capacity by Ben. (Why is it Mark will never tell me anything about what's happening at the shop - and yet happily tells Ben stuff he'd never pass on to me were the situation reversed? Maybe he really does think I'm that mad and fragile and close to being sectioned? Blah. Fuckkit.)
In fact, 'Sectioned? Blah. Fuckkit...' is quite accurate for my general mindset at present. I am starting to wish I was bloody certifiable as opposed to 'a bit of a mess' - it would make life so much easier.
My head hurts and I'm tired of so many things and have no idea how to fix any of them. And I know there are some things that make me happy but sometimes they seem so far away and even when they're right next to me sometimes I want to run away because I'd rather leave then break them.
And it's late and I'm tired too tired to cry anymore so I'm sitting here typing rubbish no one wants to read.
If anyone wants to do me a favour, forget 'interflora' or 'send money now!' forget 'toast by post', mail me a couple of packs of scalpel blades, standard sized number 10s, the ones with the nicely curved edge. They come in little foil packets of five - tape them to a card in the envelope so as not to annoy the post office, postage won't be more than a first class stamp.
Send to: Raven, Garret Room, 266 Kew Rd, Richmond, Surrey, TW9 3EE
Cheers.
But I have no trust in anything
Somehow I'm always - always falling over me
Somehow I'm always - I'm always falling over me...
I'm running out of scalpel blades.
This pleases me not at all. Because I have not the means to acquire more; the bastard things are expensive as far as small bits of stainless steel go and I've only got £40 worth of this month's rent saved. And I have yet to get Ben a nameday gifting.
To make matters more 'interesting', the bookshop no longer requires my services on sundays. Exactly when this kicks in I have yet to find out since I have only been told in an unofficial capacity by Ben. (Why is it Mark will never tell me anything about what's happening at the shop - and yet happily tells Ben stuff he'd never pass on to me were the situation reversed? Maybe he really does think I'm that mad and fragile and close to being sectioned? Blah. Fuckkit.)
In fact, 'Sectioned? Blah. Fuckkit...' is quite accurate for my general mindset at present. I am starting to wish I was bloody certifiable as opposed to 'a bit of a mess' - it would make life so much easier.
My head hurts and I'm tired of so many things and have no idea how to fix any of them. And I know there are some things that make me happy but sometimes they seem so far away and even when they're right next to me sometimes I want to run away because I'd rather leave then break them.
And it's late and I'm tired too tired to cry anymore so I'm sitting here typing rubbish no one wants to read.
If anyone wants to do me a favour, forget 'interflora' or 'send money now!' forget 'toast by post', mail me a couple of packs of scalpel blades, standard sized number 10s, the ones with the nicely curved edge. They come in little foil packets of five - tape them to a card in the envelope so as not to annoy the post office, postage won't be more than a first class stamp.
Send to: Raven, Garret Room, 266 Kew Rd, Richmond, Surrey, TW9 3EE
Cheers.