Blardy.

Kennot. Live. Like. This.

1. Somebody whacked my car.
2. I wanna whack somebody's car.
3. I nearly whacked somebody's car. It didn't happen.

It's quite endearingly filled with love and hate. Living without one is a chore. Living with one is a chore too.

I often live suppressing emotions. I have a filter in my head. No matter how apparent a problem may be, my brain tunes it off. I try hard to look into details and convince myself what is existant is real but slowly my sleepy irrational side wakes up and convinces me everything is going to be fine and I ignore the problem, let it pass, live in delusion. FAR too optimistic for my own good. It's a horrible habit and I admit it with faith of a true patriot.

Now it has taken the toil of my sanity.

Come, pour liquor on the sand for your fallen comrade.