I need to go to sleep. I crave me time, and I just fuck myself over here and there, left and right, and nothing is ever right. My standards are too high, my standards are too low, I’m too emotional.
Anger is good creative juice. I don’t know. This seems like not a liability in my safety, but more of an underutilized creative resource.
I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want to do this or that, I have some chores, I have some responsibilities, I don’t really like movies.
