I have been skipping so much school and work lately that when I die I will be sent to a special level of hell that is made up entirely of cubicles, known as the City of Dis(missed), and there I will be forced to input data for the rest of my meaningless existence.
I do sort of have an excuse though, in the form of a four-days and running headache. The main problem is that it has taken me four days to determine that the problem is not a lack of caffiene as would usually be the case, but probably a lack of water, exacerbated by the large quantities of coke that I've been consuming in a vain attempt to make it stop. Clearly, I am a deeply unhealthy person.
I don't actually believe in reading too much, but if I did, then I might be forced to admit that I have actually been reading far too much. But that would be like admitting that there is a problem, which is the first step to recovery, and I'd sooner drown myself in the Willamette than give up my reading. It's what I do when I'm not feeling well; most people pop a few aspirin, I read. Such is the nature of life.
I've been wearing costumes to work lately, technically to inspire customers, but really just because I can. (No, I'm not the only crazy person doing this; it's a fabirc store, there are others like me.) So now my bedroom looks like 10 different fandoms EXPLODED inside it. When I tried to get up this morning, I tripped over some leather armor and landed on my toy .45, beside a giant pile of MASH-ness. It's at once terrifying and exciting to see all that I've made, not to mention somewhat painful.
I think maybe there is too much craziness in this journal entry. Never mind, sanity is overrated anyway.
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