Sometimes You Can

):

I have to watch the funny bits now, otherwise I'll cry.

That song... it just had to be *that* song...

I WANT MY VICODIN!!

I want to stop caring.

I feel like everything will be much easier then.

Because in the end, nothing really matters, right?

Lamenting The Loss Of The Ointment

Bloody restlessness is back.

It's like being sunburned. It hurts, it itches, it's uncomfortable... then upon finding a really good ointment, everything is fine once again.

But then once the ointment runs out, well feck, I say.

OR: a much better analogy.

My Vicodin was taken away.

I can only have it now in small, irregular doses. And that's not fun.

(To Vicodin) There you are. Were you scared? It's OK, you're home now.
- Dr Gregory House

School Websites Were Made For A Reason

Again, our teacher is sick.

Again, first period.

Bloody hell.

A little heads up would've been nice. Even just the tiniest heads up. Just before everyone here hauled their asses out of bed.

But bahhh.

Well feck it. At least I have my Red Bull!!

Hear Me Half-Whine

I'm here. At school. Returning after winter break.

We're doing nothing. At the moment. Apparently our teacher is sick. A little heads up would've been appreciated. Because it wasn't hard to get up from bed this morning. Not at all. I mean, it's not like it's snowing heavily at the moment.*

(*That was sarcasm, in case the interwebz didn't carry it well enough. It really is snowing.)

I have a packet of iced coffee next to me. It doesn't even have any effect on me anymore. I've become immune! D:

I am trying desperately not to think. So as not to be depressed. Thin line. My toe is across it. If I keep on pondering my existence my whole body will follow.

I have nothing to be sad about. And yet I do.

Where's my Red Bull?

Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.
- Ernest Hemingway

(^ See how I cleverly dubbed myself intelligent. See that? Yeah.)