The cat purrs, the cigarette packet tries (in a fit of naiive and overoptimistic overestimation of my willpower) to convince me that it will never empty, and i am too fat by far, while my intellect starves.
Oh, and i'm going on a road trip from Perth to Melbourne next week, with Carl, in a rusted old ute he's borrowing from his dad.
There's no way in
hell that thing's gonna make it across the Nullabor.
We's gonna end up stranded, and dehydrated, and turn into nomadic desert zombies.
What's that word for when you're feeling all sort of like,
"Fuck it all, i don't give a crap what happens next, i just wanna be impulsive and undo all the things i've been working towards"?
It's sort of a midway point between Nihilism and self-destruction.
i'm starting a diet tomorrow.
A healthy one, not a starvy one.
'Cause i'm caught between rebuilding and destroying what's inside of me; i cycle rapidly between the two each day, and i'm at a crossroads as to which path i want to take.
Burn my ego to the ground that i may start again?
Or continue working with what i had already?
Damn you, Ayn Rand.
Now i'm not certain anymore.
Current Mood: |
 frustrated |
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loreleibansidhe's journal
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