I'm so sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I am sick and tired of dealing with the same shit day after day after day after day.

You sound like a broken record machine. Haven't you figured out yet that I'm done listening? I may look like I can hear you but I learned long ago how to block out the sound of your voice.

Stop talking because you don't just don't understand. You think I'm stuck, that I'm holding back? I think you're the one who's stuck in thinking that I'm nothing without you. You repeat the same sermon every time but you don't have a clue of what's really going on. And you know what? I don't want to share because you just won't understand.

I'm happy. You can't take that away from me. I'm happy and I don't need your pathetic, misguided pity. Fuck you. Give it to somebody who might actually believe you, because I sure as hell don't.

Thanks for ruining my night, though.

Teh Curs of teh Eego

U think ur so smrat, talkin abot things tat r way beond ur mental grasp. Well lean how to speel bfor u mak n ass of urslef. Non of wat u say maks sence and non of wat u speel is correkt so dunt b 2 surprizd wen ppl dunt take u srssly or wen dey bleeve ur a complet ideot. Tanks

The ticking if the clock is like the heartbeat of a quiet night. I listen to it- tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick- and I wonder if clocks are like hearts. I figure they are, they're hearts for time, the only memory of eras gone past like the heartbeat is the only memorie of lives lived.

I hate it when clocks stop; doesn't matter if the batteries have run out or the pendulum has stopped swinging. A stopped clock feels like somebody's died and I've just found them, lying open and waiting for the life inside to be renewed. Only the obvious difference remains: you can put batteries back into a clock; you cannot force a heart to start beating again.

You ought to see me now...

It's not some sort of prolific, time stilling moment that people write songs and books and movies about. It's not an earth shattering, mind blowing epiphany that keep you glued to your seat long after everyone else has moved gone and move along. It's just a simple moment of clarity: when you can see yourself as clearly as if you were staring at yourself through a perfectly flawless pane of glass and you finally understand just how the rest of the world perceives you. And the confidence that comes with is flooring. It feels like it should be some huge ass deal, like there should be a Macy's-esque parade to commorate that one singular moment of self-serving clarity. But there isn't; there is just the satisfaction of knowing that you have reached a higher and more satisfying plane of metaphysical being and that the people you once thought mattered, the materialistic things that once sent you into a screaming frenzy of passion are not really as important as they used to seem.

<3Lulu