No Show.

I raced home today. I think I may have broken my car. My dad told me not to go that fast with it, that it would probably blow up, but I did it anyway and now it's broken. My car, has more similarities to my personality than anything else I think. A child of the 80's, red, compact, squeaky and broken. I'm an old fucking car.

So I raced home, hoping that the result would be a positive one, but it's not. It's a giant fucking no show. So far anyway. Maybe it's a good thing 'cause I'm so fucking tired, but that doesn't matter, 'cause I know that I would stay up all night if what I wanted was infront of me. I'm stupid like that. The only thing that's keeping me up now is the coffee. The two massive cups of coffee that I drank, so I could sort things out, even though they were making my stomach turn cartwheels.

What the fuck am I doing? This is so fucking stupid. I need to cut myself off. Every day, I get home and my stomach is in my throat, my head is pounding and I'm more confused than I ever have been. Of course then, I can't tell if it's because I'm tired or if it's actually because I'm confused. Either way, I'm sure it's not healthy and I'm sure it's making me mildly insane. Maybe very insane. I feel insane.
I guess it's getting easier. It's not difficult when you're so limited by so many things, especially the things you want most.

Ahh. And the eternal "pessamist" is proven wrong, yet again. That's good. So why don't I feel better yet?