I can't breathe here. My lungs are filled with glass.
I hate being sick. Mostly, because it makes my eyes feels like they are about to explode.
And I can't breathe.
My sleep is all fusterclucked because meds. This is why I hate being on antidepressants but I need to be on antidepressants so I don't kill myself.
Unfortunatly, I'm serious about that last bit.
Probably why I end up with jumpy headmates. Headmates...is that even a correct term now? Does it count if they're all walk-ins?
You know what, eff it, I don't care.
I should go to bed so I don't crash the work van tomorrow. Sometimes I have dreams of that and it feels so real that I wake up paranoid.
I should get my meds adjusted but the good stuff outways the bad. Plus, I'll just smoke more pot.
I never know how to end a blog post.
Yeah, that's a load of crunchy crapola.
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