Bye bye now.

After a rather unsatisfying holiday only redeemed by the abundance of entertaining jumping photos, I'm so glad to be home. Deceiving photo: I'm so happy and carefree and love nature.

“ Sometimes skulls are thick. Sometimes hearts are vacant. Sometimes words don’t work. ”
- James Frey, A Million Little Pieces

Why does it seem that sometime is all the time.

Feeling rather miserable for no particular reason, it makes me wonder when I switched from always happy to always angry permanently, initially I thought it was a mood swing but it just never left and now I'm always angry, always always always. They always say you're as petty as the petty things you get angry about but anger is an easy way to function. "One cries because one is sad. For example, I cry because others are stupid, and that makes me sad." (Sheldon) Not even stupid, but just so clueless and SHIITake mushrooms. Why do people pretend to love things? Why do people pretend to like other people? Why do people pretend to be things they're not?

When are you going to realise filling yourself with useless information about other people doesn’t make you any less empty? You only become less interesting for not having anything of your own, the things that belong to you because you felt it and you created it and you chose for it to become a part of you, THESE ARE WHAT REALLY MATTER. But instead you choose to become a container; a collection of other people’s things and that container by nature, has always been the disposable kind, waiting for its edges to become flimsy and its cores to rot and grow mould, waiting for someone to finally realise and toss it all in the bin.

You tell me all these facts and figures and everyone you know or have heard of, you call your friend. They’re not, you know they're not, or maybe you don't, I don't know, just STOP. Stop loving or hating everything when you don't even know them, stop pretending to know everything, stop telling me everything you've ever heard happened to a friend of a friend of a friend of a ....I'm tired. You see, the problem is it’s tedious, I don't even understand how much you’re saying is yours and how you can possibly have so many 'favourites' when a favourite is an entity from the rest, or should be anyway. You’re like every essay you’ve ever written, you copy and paste, copy and paste, COPY AND PASTE and once your conclusion is written, you proudly nod and tell me “look at my essay”. THAT’S NOT YOUR BLOODY ESSAY. WHY CAN’T YOU SEE IT?

Why does everything bother me when it's not even of importance to me, at all? Everything you say offends me. It's like when I try to describe why and what something means to me and people say "Oh yeah I LOVE THAT, it's my FAVOURITE" but they don't and it's not. I don't even know how to contain my rage in that split moment, and there's so much I want to scream but they just won't understand so I can't, so I swallow and turn away. It's so demeaning. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, okay enough.

tata.

ALSO, PHUCK YOU EASTER FOR SCREWING UP MY DIARY.
Whoever invented pens sucks bouncy balls, pencils are good :(