It's later than I normally attempt literary bloodletting for the day, but I need to do something to take my mind off of life. I'm not sure it worked.
I wrote something and I guess it's okay. At least something was written. As usual, I'm probably underestimating myself, and people would like it - but people WON'T. FUCKING. TELL ME. I'm just left guessing again. I feel like I've been shanghaied and I woke up in a foreign country, where I can't tell what the hell's going on or even where I am. The locals don't even notice me, and when they do, I don't speak the language. I am a failed genetic experiment on an island where no one would think my screams are out of the ordinary.