dazed

"peace is when i am six feet under." dammit it may be true. i am a hair's breadth away from coming undone, unglued, unhinged. name you "uns" baby and it may very well fit me like a glove. i can't think straight, can't do sh*t, can't even write for my own pleasure.

so yes, it would not be life if it was not an arduous and extremely lengthy assf*ck session would it? yet, is it so bad to work for a little bit of sanity? for the life of me, i cannot just drop it. my adult life is like a slow motion disassembling (forced mind you), and i have caught myself hoping a lot of times that it would just explode into innumerable fragments. i have done it a few times in the past. to no avail. life has congealed, coalesced again into something horrible.

it always has been like this. im too old and too freaking tired for this sh*t. and still i climb into the treadmill like an obedient hamster.

oh yes, i have a lot be thankful for. i cant remember what they are though.

merry f*cking christmas in advance to the rest of you miserable humans too.