I feel like, working on the literary magazine is so amazingly amazing fun good things, times, that, and just, real life, sucks.
And now it’s time for real life again.
Work is nothing.
One day. One day of confusion.
Monday I will ask my senior what I’m working on now. He will tell me. It will all be sorted out.
I hate panicking like I do. It’s atrocious.
These elitist spirits. But I guess they smile because they know.
And words on the page that insult me, horrify me, threaten me. They’re not meant to. I must have been abused as a child.
Stick a d in that mouth.
There. All better.
So I guess I’ll just hope for no psychic harassment tonight because I’m on a higher dose of depakote now!
It’s so sad that so many had to suffer for so long. Medicine. The only thing that matters is medicine.
Is it now?
How does the species get along? There are so many problems, have been so many problems, throughout history. I’m so sad. This makes me so sad.
Neighbors making sudden shocking noises outside. Dropping boxes on the ground. Evil.
Well not that I’m going to do anything about it.
Ugh what am I doing with my life…