I am really depressed.
First of all, every voices within me and around me has been telling me that life's been really good on me. Which in a straightforward manner, it means I have put on weight. Fuck. And my boy couldn't help to be gay about it saying how well he has been taking care of me. Fuckin hell.
Damn him for rollerblading at ECP this evening and late night shopping now at Mustafa without me.
I hate the way I was on my commute back, now. But when that appearance/attributes-wise challenged woman shoved her way and pushed me, causing me to almost lose my footing, I love being a fucking punk.
My mouse is working fine again.
There's this flying bug irritating and scaring the shit outta me.
I have less than 8 hours to sleep.
I think about him every day still and I know I am being unfaithful.
And so? My cognitive landscape is solely my own.
Our lives are such fucking routines. And I don't ever wish to grow up.
