God Called In Sick Today
I've been thinking so much of late it feels as if my brain is gradually exploding in small portions out of my ears. I hate everyone. No, seriously.
I have some how worked myself into a state of perpetual loathing. I am sickened and/or repulsed by all of you. Okay, I'm only being half truthful. But I am not particularly fond of mankind at present. But I have a severe case of writers block. Which, in turn, leaves me with two sensible options. A) Continue with this horrid misfortune and serious lack of poetry and/or songwritting vent. Or, B) Death. The votes are close. But it looks as though death is leading by a mere 99.99 percent. I'm having severe hair dramas. A cross between strands that are varying lengths, a fringe that's too long and what seems to be turning into an ugly mullet like creation. That'll teach me to cut my own hair without using a mirror.
A show this weekend makes me feel as if I should doll myself up to spite. Or, I can always buy a pushup bra with hopes of my boobs appearing bigger than they actually are. And I have spider bites ALL over my body. And yes, exageration is required. I'm making a giant effort to be nice to people, and to 'comfort' if thats what you human beans call it. I'm putting on the 'confidence act'. So if any of you privledged people on my lj friends list happen to see me smiling in the next month or two, know that its fake and only for show. Because there is absolutely nothing to be happy about. Unless a certain someone admits that he is wrong, and gets on his knees to beg for forgiveness and a second chance. So that I can kick him in the face and then reply, "No." To later walk away and drown in a bath of my own blood.
I have some how worked myself into a state of perpetual loathing. I am sickened and/or repulsed by all of you. Okay, I'm only being half truthful. But I am not particularly fond of mankind at present. But I have a severe case of writers block. Which, in turn, leaves me with two sensible options. A) Continue with this horrid misfortune and serious lack of poetry and/or songwritting vent. Or, B) Death. The votes are close. But it looks as though death is leading by a mere 99.99 percent. I'm having severe hair dramas. A cross between strands that are varying lengths, a fringe that's too long and what seems to be turning into an ugly mullet like creation. That'll teach me to cut my own hair without using a mirror.
A show this weekend makes me feel as if I should doll myself up to spite. Or, I can always buy a pushup bra with hopes of my boobs appearing bigger than they actually are. And I have spider bites ALL over my body. And yes, exageration is required. I'm making a giant effort to be nice to people, and to 'comfort' if thats what you human beans call it. I'm putting on the 'confidence act'. So if any of you privledged people on my lj friends list happen to see me smiling in the next month or two, know that its fake and only for show. Because there is absolutely nothing to be happy about. Unless a certain someone admits that he is wrong, and gets on his knees to beg for forgiveness and a second chance. So that I can kick him in the face and then reply, "No." To later walk away and drown in a bath of my own blood.