GOD.
I’m so frustrated.
YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT?
I WANT PEOPLE TO NOT ENGAGE WITH ME.
EVER.
OR AT LEAST, I DON’T EVEN FUCKING KNOW, JUST DON’T TALK TO ME WHEN I LOOK LIKE I’M ABOUT TO RIP YOUR FUCKING FACE OFF. I MEAN FUCK, I’M TIRED OF PEOPLE TALKING AT ME LATELY.
ASKING ME QUESTIONS AND SHIT.
IF I HAVE TO BULLSHIT TALK TO ONE MORE PERSON ABOUT GOING TO TEXAS I’M GOING TO FLIP
MY
SHIT.
I DON’T KNOW THE FIRST THING I’M GONNA DO AS SOON AS PARTICLES OF MY BODY TOUCH THE TEXAS BORDER. MKAY?
I DON’T KNOW.
STOP ASKING.
MATTER OF FACT, AS FAR AS ANYONE ELSE IS CONCERNED FROM THIS POINT ON I’M MOVING TO FUCKING SPACE. I’M MOVING TO SPACE AND I’M GOING TO LIVE INSIDE A BLACK HOLE. I’LL TALK TO YOU NEVER.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
till Texas.
—-
Packing has finally begun.
Yesterday.
It began yesterday, really, but…
yeah.
SO MUCH SHIT TO STILL DO GODDAMN.