I don't really feel like saying anything but it's been a week so I guess I should have something to say.
I don't feel very well. And I have four types of pills to take. One is a capsule that is half-blue and half-clear (clear end filled with powder that looks like fish eggs). Bet ya can't think of anything more disgusting.
I think too much and stone too much and then what the heck I think I'm crazy.
I have to concentrate or I will gooo pop (excuse me, excuse me, quote from unnamed theme song). I keep turning on the radio in the car because music is a drug that stops the migranes temporarily - although my mum says my music gives her headaches.
I know some things should have happened in the past week that are worth writing about in a meaningful, cohesive manner, but guess what, I don't want to. Would you count writing a short story in KAP and having depressing conversations and not wanting to care about anyone but thyself and wanting to change but not being able to as yet but not giving up anyway as what you want to remember? 'Course not. Selective editing should be practised if journalism is ever a potential career.
Convulted at best. "Somewhere over the GP is my F9" or something like that. Gak. I'm becoming like Daria. The bad things.
Oh maybe not - I remembered something good. Take care Mel. Let's kill the Demon Depression who everyone has anyway.