I'm not. I'm not going to say how truly horrendous my day was, because if I do, I'm going to get severely mad again and I don't want to get mad when there's absolutely nothing to be done about it.
No... I'm going to go take a nap, then wake up, then get right back to recoding that mountain of fics I have waiting for me.
Yes, that sounds nice and simple. Simple is good. People don't understand simple, I think.
Then again, they don't understand why exactly I want a guillotine for my birthday, either.
You try walking around your house with someone blasting their car stereo so loud that everything inside your place is vibrating and see if you wouldn't want some weapon of execution/torture for yourself.
Parental unit said Iron Maidons are both outdated and illegal.
I say some people just have it coming.
Everyone, meet Macabre.
Macabre and Self are quite intimate with one another.
I'm waiting for Yaoicon roomie to email me and let me know when the reg days for the room is. Of course, on the off chance that she claism at the last minute that she cannot go, I'm going to kill something. Preferrably a person.
A friend of Ki's (no, not a typo, there's a Ki and a Kit, trust me) made a movie documenting a character's decent into madness. I don't need documentation. I'm already there. I send people postcards to find the place.
Someone document a person's decent into lucidity. That's the real prison.
Even after I told the @#)@#$ at the clinic I did NOT want to see a particular doctor, they give me a return appointment to see same said doctor. So, because I know people are intimidated by more than one number in a party, I've enlisted backup to come with me on the appointment, and calmly tell her that I would like to put in a request for a new doctor. I'm waiting for her to ask me why, so backup can let her have it.
You know it's bad when you go into a mental clinic and come out even more fucked up than when you arrived.
In the "there's somewhere always worse than where you are" department. I heard from the ::cough:: manager (translate: glorified collector of the rent and nothing more) that there is another set of apartments owned by the management company who owns these places. They're worse. He said the area around there is owned by the Rolling 60s, and they shot up a 14-yea-old and tossed the body up in the driveway of the apartments.
I don't want to move out of these apartments anymore. No, really, I don't. I want to move out of this gods-be-damned REALITY.
I'll end it on that note, simply because this is another fragmented post that makes no sense. But I am not burdened with coherency when it comes to my entries, as been previously noted in the past.
Sleep... now.
