[Perfect Title for the Perfectionist Fuckers Who Demand One]

Dad sprayed some Raid on ants in the kitchen. I don’t know how stupid he is.

Very, apparently.

My psychiatrist recommends I not target individuals or groups with my blog posts.

Sigh. I don’t know if I’ve done that already. I’m worried.

The whole house smells like shit, I’m trying to ventilate a bit.

I am still psychotic and it’s entirely other people’s fault. Fuckers. Humans are garbage.

Anyway. I wish there were somewhere to go but there isn’t, really. I ought to plan an outing at some point. But mom the police officer wouldn’t want me out on my own. It’s a scary thought when I think of it.

Dad the police officer just likes being an obnoxious jackass too.

The family is doomed.

I hope to gradually regain sanity somehow.

We’ve upped one of my meds. Which I should keep secret for some reason.


That’s all.

I mean there’s a lot, lot more. But that’s all as far as I can dig. There’s like, a quantity that is presented, and a quantity that is known. One can be more than the other. It’s an inequality.

I don’t really want to go into the math. I don’t know.

Good luck, whoever you are.


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