Tool: Pencil. Weapon: Death.

Tags:	comment of the week, job applications, pain, slowmotion
Current Music:	Saliva - Rest in pieces
Subject:	Poisonmonth, poisonmouth.
Time:	10:28 am
Current Mood:	sore

Swedish essay: Still hauling in information.
Philosophy essay: Still irritated at retarded teacher.
Geography essay: I die when I think of it.
Online project: Difficult to work on without internet.

There is nothing quite as annoying as living with a parent who thinks you MUST DO THINGS FOR THE FAMILY WELL BEING AND BE A MEMBER OF THE OH SO HAPPY FAMILY.
And when you don't, because you CAN'T, your mother kicks you below the belt and steals from you what pretty much is currently keeping you from marching into the sloppy autumny woods and hanging yourself in a pine.

Hm. So, I have internet, a few hours a day. Read; DAY. I usually stay up the night, so I can surf the webwaves undisturbed by general bitchy momness, but last night, she unplugged the net, just for the night. And that ticked me off something fierce. BITCH. Day-net sucks. Most the people I want to talk to, are on on the night.
However, the trick is, that if my mom thinks I "use the internet too much, and still don't show her respect", she will unlug the net totally. And knowing her and her bitching moodswings, I just have to wait a few days, and then she will barge in, when having a bad day, and start screaming at me out of no reason, again. Because I'm the easiest target in the "family".

Writing job application emails is tiring. Everything is tiring atm. I was trying to avoid it, but apparently I just can't do that; autumn is for me the time of autumn depression, period. So currently my two only moods are; A tired, lame mood in whcih I can't concentrate on anything, and just want to curl up and sleep, OR, a panicky, stressed mood of hysteria where I just want to curl up and die.

Also, I need to start reading the local paper to look around for apartments. I hate the local paper, because it isn't local; it is written by estonians with shitty finnish/swedish skills, thus instead of reading my, ah , "dear" Hanko dialect in the local paper, I get to read grammar and spelling mistakes that 5 year olds do. Whee.
Why the paper? Because the stupid, inbred shitheads in this town do not realize that they can actually stop closing themselves in this town, and reach the world, and namely advertizing pages, on the web, and put a apartment ad up there.

Ow fuck, my ass hurts like hell. I hate gym class. No wait, I hate BODY PUMP in gym class. How the hell can my ass start hurting from that!? Owowowow. Sitting is pain. I thought my shoulders were gonna hurt like hell, because the shoulder movement was the most exhausting one for me, but noooo, instead my damn arse hurts. And my arms, a little. My back and my neck hurt like hell too, but it isn't that healthy "I've trained" pain, it is the "OW SHIT I DID SOMETHING WRONG WHILE TRAINING" pain.

Fifi spent the day here yesterday. She was writing her finnish essay on my comp, and failing miserably, while I lazed away on the couch besides the comp. Fif cracked the best comment of the week.
"Oooh! A zebra with stripes!"
I LOLed.

Everything is happening in slow motion. No wait, I AM happening in slow motion. I really need to start writing all the stuff I need to, including the job applications. But I'm just so fucking exhausted and tired all the damn time.

Now... No more bitching for today. I'm just gonna get up, in slow motion, go to the bathroom and take a piss, in slow motion, then eat breakfast, in slow motion, and then go to school on slow motion.

Know what the worst thing is with this being so slow?

The world doesn't move in slow motion around me. I can't keep up.

Tales: Tell a tale

December 3rd, 2007

October 31st, 2007

Advertisement