Word, ain't it?
Anyways, it's probably too late to make a nonsensical entry about how sucky and absurd Valentine's day really is. I mean, if you come to think of it, Valentine's day really serves no purpose in this God-forsaken life of ours, aside from the fact that it depresses unattached people a lot. And by a lot, I mean a truckload of sadness is thus present - among single bastards and bitches, that is.
I skipped school today because of this BS migraine that's been killing my head (and consequently, my whole fatass system) all week long. This started last Sunday, by which I cannot remember how the hell it emerged, and what in the name of Satan triggered it to happen. All what matters is how my head really really really hurts today, and that my schizophrenia is on its peak.
So, to celebrate the notorious SAD yesterday, I ran stupid errands for my siblings. And besides buying colored candles and foil papers, I also went by Powerbooks to check out some new bestsellers because seriously, there's a shortage of good books at our household. There's the last installment of Harry Potter just under my sister's bed, and there's the my Sophie Kinsella collection, which dates back when I was still in sixth grade, and there's Jane Austen and Jodi Picoult. But damn, I don't really want to read things I've read already.
Non-conformity, please forgive me. I just bought a book that is absurdly famous.
TWILIGHT.
What the hell, right? I mean, screw rules. It's valentine's day anyway. Like anyone would really give a damn if I read something so incoherently sappy. And really, Twilight's actually good. I've already read about three-fourths of the weird book, and so far so....surpassingly stupendous. Edward Cullen's probably the most gorgeous male protagonist I've read about, and him being all vampire-y is the sexiest thing ever. I also like the idea of Edward liking a very normal girl like Belle.
Well, enough of this. I have to finish the damn book before the weekend hits. I don't want to catch up with the emotional fever the series have brought in our high school.
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Confiding what I've done a while ago is not really defeating the purpose of a blog, ain't it?
I smoked a damn death stick.
You've read that right. It's not some fantasy or dream that's been obviously recurring for the past few weeks. The reason why I probably did this is because of extreme curiosity. And I'm talking about reaaaal curiosity, because it hindered me from having normal dreams. Every single night since this started, I would always envision myself holding a cigarette, thereafter smoke it.
And I know that there's just one solution to it, which is of course doing the deed itself.
So yeah. Here are my utmost observations:
1. Smoking is not really addicting or whatever.
2. On the contrary, it's really boring, actually. It's like I'm just puffing from my inhaler, then exhaling the precious medicine out.
3. Its odor spreads like hell. Okay, so maybe smoking in the vicinity of your own room is a bad idea, but there isn't really any space in our house where you can smoke casually. I almost used up all of my sister's perfume just to make the damn smell go away.
That'll be the last time I'll smoke. Promise.
Or not..
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