Run yourself ragged.

You're an idiot. A huge fucking idiot. Fuck You Fuck You Fuck You. I'm ruined and boring.

**Edit** This entry is really stupid.  

The clock ticks, the temperature rises, and your life spins more and more out of control.

I'm sitting with terrible posture.  My fist is holding up my face, fingers curled under my nose.  I think they smell like cat piss.  It's not, they don't, it's really just the lotion I used, with cat piss undertones perhaps.  Sometimes I have trouble bringing myself to go to bed.  I search for millions of distractions before I finally join a soft little meowy thing in squinched-foot fits of languid slumber.  It wasn't your fault.  You were just being honest like how I'm just being honest.  Honestly, fuck you.  Honestly, I miss my best friends from a while ago.  Sometimes I feel like I can't make it without them.  I was Goldilocks and they were both Baby Bear.  We got what we needed.  Now we're all a million miles apart.  For the very first time in my life, I am without a male best friend.

It's hard to keep reminding myself that I'm my own person.  I can't just cut off a head and let it bleed.  I have to wrap it in something, or keep the smell away.  Let it bleed, Ceec.  You loved that album.  Let it happen, and absolutely fuck the rest.

Let me be the one with the softness.

Waves of foolishness knock me down.

Let's get ourselves some credit cards so we can have a life worth living.
 
You would have killed somebody so I'd have something to write about. 

Oh Lonesome!