smith

Life: 1.
Me: 0.

Moving? Seriously?

Goddammit.

Once more into the breech.

In retrospect, I think that last post could have been misconstrued, so let me revise:

I was absolutely crushed last night, in a very beautiful and terrible way. My life is transmogrifying into a cosmic joke of epic proportions, and last night was the icing on the cake.

I swear, if I have to hear what I did tonight one more time, I'm going to off myself. How utterly fucking crushing. CRUSHING.

I want to bawl my eyes out, and I cannot.

I'm really fuckin' tired of the following:

1.) Unresponsive people.
2.) People who always seem to get the wrong idea.
3.) Myself.
4.) Almost everyone else.
5.) Washing dishes.

Redacted. You're not worth the fucking effort or the exposure.

Random readers, stop here. This is pointless commentary at its worst.

Dear Smith fans,

There's a particular girl on Facebook that I've never met (and who, consequently, means approximately dick to me) that arbitrarily started deleting my comments to her for no apparent reason (unless one considers some cheerful banter about Lovecraft back and forth prior to this). While I freely acknowledge that this is...
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Self-dignity: restored! Back to regular life.

Another dead end for another dead man.

Note to self: booking airfare after a few beers isn't a wise move, as it results in booking the wrong return flight to the tune of $200.

Little Big Planet is spectacularly cool.