Hormones were never meant to be used in the presence of 8 track tapes. My Pioneer unit almost caused a disaster with the dimmer lights on low in my room last night. Fortunately, my complexion once again saved me, replacing self-loathing with self-loathing.
Ayn Rand won't care if I don't believe in her anymore, because she's hiding behind her russian accent in the corner. What I'm feeling has no words, but it goes with looking in a mirror and wondering who this is. It also goes with looking back at the past few days and wondering why the hell I did and said so many stupid things.
I need to get some more bags for my comic books.
