i am a nice person. i am not bad. i am a retarted boy that people feel sorry for. am i saying that to be dramatic and manipulative? i feel lonely. everything is a mess.
pardon me. "tylenol chest congestion" fucking with my brain. everything takes so much work-- the coffee filters, the paper towels, the dishes, the laundry, the vacuuming. i am exhausted. upper respiratory hell-- do i have SARS? how would you know, you're not even listening because you're sleeping. you have a job, you're bringing home the bacon.
never had a chance to see him, no! never heard nothing but bad things about him.
spending too much time trying to go back in time. looking up people from high school-- they are teachers in illinois and hawaii, futures brokers (what in the hell does that mean), realtors, babies, marriages, more babies. the lonely homosexual sits at 1:24 in the morning and writes it all down.
just the moon and me and you
yes i like to watch a lot of tv. yes i like to smoke and eat bad foods and drink diet cokes and sleep a lot and live a life of shit. of shit. of shit shit shit. things people say haunting me. in a real i-should-see-a-therapist mood. i assure you i am fine. just venting, trying to remove the barnacles off my hull. a nautical reference!
administrations, bills and loans, come with me...
i am sorry if you don't understand. i can't explain the whole thing to you. it's too complicated. let's just go to taco bell. that's what it comes down to, doesn't it? let's just hit the taco bell and call it a night. crawl into my bed, my fort made out of blankets with cigarette burns and saliva stains. blecch! gross. i assure you i'm fine. you'd know if it was a cry for help because i'd be calling you. sleep it off. just sleep it off. doing head rolls, cracking my neck, hoping to crack my neck.
talk of circadian rhythms
ok. good. that's it. oh maybe a little bit more. ok now.
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