The fan, it hits it…

Good morning, good evening, good afternoon. Well folks, the shit has hit the fan. Apparently, love is more important than family and my indecision has done me in. My fault, really. Freeloading is a strong word, but no matter how you slice a pie it’s still apple, right?

I’m supposed to be the “smart-one”, so who knew that I had little-to-no aptitude for life. One could say I have rage-problems, tho. So I don’t work. Not like normal people do, anyway. I don’t do it on purpose; I do it to avoid ulcers and killing people for real. There is no rage than the hidden rage of those who work. Period. Or is that just me?

Real, faked, imagined, or imposed, I have to go. I think I’m done here. I knew it wasn’t going to be happy. Didn’t think it was going to be at the violent intent of a drunkard moron idiot. Actually, plotwise, I should have seen that coming. How’s that; I’m genre blind to my own life.

I’m giving myself a week. I need a site, and a few lengths of tarp (or something else waterproof), and I need to start compiling a few other loose supplies (simple crap: few changes of clothes, something to read, my entire life…). Yeah. This is why you buy a fold-able cart: not for groceries, but to pack your life in… -_-;

Yeesh, Seven. She said to stay out of the house til’ about three. Then she wants to ‘talk’. (And by ‘talk’, she means browbeat, because everything I say and do is bullshit, right?) It’s balls, but I’ll do it. It’s either that or kill the hungover bastard. Wouldn’t be too hard… (See what I mean…? T_T)

Thank you, and have a nice day.


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