They’ve always been heathens.
I lay dying by the bottle once more.
Oh august notion of stasis, begone–I am thy victim no more.
Longing for temptation to be somewhere instilled along vine for lover’s passage, I yearn for being.
Still temptation, the argument is null. Family is rife. Do not belittle your heart with their belligerence.
We are here, we are now; the moment is upon us.
I will imbine the red fuel of lust and send my mind to the romance it belongs once more.
Till death do we part.
There’s nothing to do, and I’m horrified. I don’t even know which direction I’m supposed to be going in anymore.
I’m not sure if it’s psych condition-related or just a completely normal thing for people to go through. Productivity breakdowns.
Will cancel apt. with psychochiatrist which is scheduled for a few weeks. There’s no point but to be beaten up by him, which I obviously do not like. I don’t know. Therapy the day after, probably will schedule too.
At least dinner was good last night.
Brewing myself some coffee. Jotting down swanky linux commands for the server in one of my notebooks in pencil. The pencil is green and mechanical, 0.5 mm lead. Superb pencil. I have two more, one is orange and one is an off-red (cherryish, but not dark). I bought a lot of them b/c I like pencils.
Somehow nothing quite cuts it.
I’ve got to learn to study again.