"I'm an author! I can write anything!"
"Fuck you."
"Oh yeah? Write a consistantly good story."
"Fuck you."
- a conversation I had written some time ago.
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Died on Saturday.
Can we talk for a bit about how silly Wakandian weapons are? The dudes say at the most versatile metal on all Earth for generation and they decided to make spears that shoot lazers from it. Just... Why?
Where the fuck am I supposed to find peonies at this time? Their flowering season has already passed.
The cats around the place I work are cute, but scare really easily. Sad.
Worse on Friday.
Sleep. The act of pretending to be asleep, until you really are.
There's a novel I'm reading, and the author writes scenes of torture without a TW, but censors the word piss.
28°С.
Fuck.
Took ill on Thursday.
Man I'm hungry...
Married on Wednesday.
Sometimes, I wish I could turn off my brain and just exist for an hour or two.
Christined on Thesday.
Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday. -
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