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'fragments of a broken mind'

Me: So how's it going?

Nobody: . . .

Me: I'm bored.. wanna go get something to eat?

My wall: . . .

Me: I've got interesting things to talk about. Wanna acknowledge me?

My sister: Who are you talking to in there? Are you on the phone?

Me: *sigh*


~I got no legs~

I am skunk, smell me roar.

How many rate-limiting enzymes can you memorize in two days? Hope it's lots, If you want that B.S. Biochem.

When I was younger, I used to cut myself often with razor blades. It started out being something I did for fun, with one of my friends; but later I just kept doing it all the time, in usally the same area. Now I've got a lo of scars there, though they're really light and fading. It still feels good to do it, I know, though I've not done it in years.

I used to hang out in a large underground storm sewer on the east side of town, and I ruled over a small gang that was based on fighting, stealing, and explosives.

I'm not kidding about either of the above. It sounds rather taudry when I put it into words like that. I did a lot of stupid things as a youth. Sometimes I think I sink into deep rancorous cynicism as a crutch for my inability to cope with the passing of my childhood. Sometimes. But, to be fair, sometimes I sit mindlessly trying to think of what 4 into 24 is.