i've always told myself i wouldnt let routines bore me. because i am one who gets bored fast. so i improvise and try to entertain myself everyday with something new. lately, just lately, even doing something new is disappointing. it just doesnt enlighten anymore.
im sick of staring at the tilted train.
this isnt the time for romance. not my time anyway. i just have to get use to it.
boy, was shai marina and zreen flabbergested at the thought of that. again, i see how trust is bloody important. and really, im fine with it, stop asking. stop telling. you wont understand why i dont want to know anything either. maybe it just wont make sense to you. you had your fun.
being rich is such a nice option. reaching there and working is such a chore. im a lazy fuckwit. im hopelessly trying to change. im not sure where to start.
it took me a while to realise how deep i am in this sickness a good friend dubbed as the 'second/middle child syndrome'.
writing is a pain. by hand, i mean. with pen and paper. ink always manage to find its way to my face. smudged. as always. blue big bang book offers no inspiration.
i hope my paranoias are untrue. i really do.
because that would just be cruel.
for the last time, fuck anticipation.
i really am getting too emotional for everything. and i'm not sure what is wrong. everything irritates me. anything can make me blow. you especially, and i think you know that.