I sometimes wonder if my thoughts could ever become an interesting attempt of a twisted satire novel. If I hardwired my noogin with a typewriter I’m sure I’d be short of stunned at what came out. Not a moment goes by that some spur of the moment blueprint pops into mind or sarcastic quazi-dream. Most of the time I feel less like me and more like a monkey on aderol. Although Im sure they get the less complicated version of things.
My habits are very polar, one extreme or other, never mediocre & usually the kryptonite of my compulsiveness.
Im tired & today has been one heck of day, probably because I did a few things I’ve told myself again and again i wouldnt. I havent been honest to myself or to others & I’m feeling down right shitty.
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