nny | (no subject) (Reply)

Man, hormones are just an epicness of not fun. I mean, I recognise that it is hormones, thereby circumnavigating potential problems, but I swear to godlike shapes in the clouds that this has been the longest period ever. All of which has been spent with my brain telling me DEATH! SMELLS LIKE FRESH BREAD AND APPLE CRUMBLE AND GOOD THINGS! We have funteims! *OMG BIG GRINNY THUMBS UP* And then my spleen pipes up, all 'come now, death is kind of extreme, no?' and brain argues back WE ACHIEVE NOTHING TODAY. DEATH! And my spleen - who is on my side - asserts that the upstairs neighbours are likewise lack of achievey and significantly more annoying, and yet we are willing to let them live, no? And my brain isn't listening because it's playing with my lower intestines and trying to make me throw up. Meanwhile I - as said - achieve nothing and feel like crap, want to sleep all the time but am thwarted by the significant number of upstairs parties. Also, I am dirigible-bloated and ought to be harnessed and flown against a giant robot over Victorian London. LASSOS! So I'm mostly playing the Sims and watching due South, not going out in the fresh air enough and missing the sun.

As soon as my blood's stopped falling out I shall be passably normal again, I promise. ¬_¬