Why is being desperately unhappy

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Why is being desperately unhappy like this? I'm staring at the stuff in my room (specifically littered all over my floor), and despite jokes to the contrary, not seeing floor isn't a great thing. You (my disembodied Reader) can perhaps disregard my desperation for a moment, for in the time between this sentence and the next will not be the time between thought and typing, but rather the time between desperation and action. Floor.

Have to thank Zhi Xian for her lovely rug, it's quite fantastic being able to just take it outside and fling junk off it and turn it around so the cleaner side is up.

I wonder about Weichean's possession (take that A.S. Byatt) of the Avril Lavigne album which I listened to while tidying (yes not cleaning, Claire) my room. Sounds like angry chick music to me. Wei Chean is interesting that way.

Some time has passed, and I've been calling back and forth between Wayahead and the Barbican Box office for fucking up my Supergrass tickets.




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This page contains a single entry by subtitles published on January 23, 2003 6:09 PM.

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