I've been sitting in the darkest corner of my darkest room, writing in my most serious diary with the pen that doesn't have anything cute hanging off the end of it. I sigh approximately and exactly every three minutes. I've only been eating sadcakes, refusing anything with awesomesauce and I've totally stopped showering*. I've scoured the internet for the most comfortless, disquieting song I could find - and let me tell you, I've been more successful than I ever imagined possible - the lyrics actually have anything to do with nothing, but since when does a good, old-fashioned state of ennui have to make sense?
*Let's face it, I never do this anyway.
I listened to it twice in a row, and my husband had to smack a bottle of pills right out of my hand just seconds before I tossed its contents into my mouth. I don't even remember how the pills got there.
In all seriousness, I didn't mean to sound grim with my last post. I am 90% sure I will make it. If I don't, Hammersmark will divide my belongings among the rest of you after she's done taking what she wants.
