I sit in my chair, and I'm quite relaxed but then I start to feel a little strange. I look around - nothing. I knew there wouldn't be anything weird between these walls; there's hardly anything in this room. It's a bit damp, in fact it has been for while. Months. I can't be bothered to clean up. As I see it, there's no reason to clean up - I'm not having any guests round for tea or anything. Guests suck. Guests suck the life out of you.
I hate fake enthusiasm. I hate it, no I loathe it, when you tell someone what isn't happening in your life right now and they behave as if you've swum the channel in a wheelchair. They're being pathetic about you being pathetic. This combination is very much, definitely, certified pathetic.
Cuts don't heal. Nine times out of ten, stuff doesn't get better. The dead don't rise. Your mum won't always be around and you know it. Still, at least the footy's on. Rock and ruddy roll!
I've sat in some shit. I'm not planning to clean it off for a while. Be right back. Check ya l8r bro x
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