2000-10-19 "Th neighbour complained about the smell. Damn." The smell of gas, of course. This is where we all end up, don't we? Neighbours complaining about the smell when we try to kill ourselves. I don't know if you get this, but it summarizes everything about what makes being alive not worth it. I got an essay back today. I wrote it at 2 am the night before I needed to hand it in. It was written on a topic that I thought to be questionable, at least, and without much to say about it anyway. I got it back with comments like "interesting topic" (without the pause) and "good arguments". (There was also a big exclamation mark next to the word "PUNCTUATION", but I blame the lack of sleep for that.) Maybe there is a god and s/he's sneering at me right now. --- I'm going to LPR tomorrow. LPR is 'home'. I can't really call it home because I don't live there anymore and never will again (and I never really thought of it as home when I did live there), but I don't quite know what else to call it. It's where my parents recide. There is no proper word for it, so I just need to use the name of the town. (Which isn't LPR, but it's too long to type, so I just use the abbreviation. The bad thing with this is that no one knows what I mean.) --- I think one of my cuts is infected. It hurts, it's red and swollen and so on. I'm not pleased but that's my own fault because I couldn't bother to sterilize the razor. I don't think I cleaned it at all, actually. (Bite me.) Hopefully I'll get blood-poisoning and die. --- (A split second later.) |
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