January 18, 2002 :: 5:47 p.m.
won't you have a slice of orgasm pie?
My dad made a banana cream pie. I think it's really an orgasm pie with bananas on top, though. I'm fighting the temptation to eat the whole thing, because I'm in a shitty mood and when I'm like this I just want to suck up every bit of junk food in sight.
I think I may go mad. Honestly. My parents are both gone, which means that I really don't have access to a car. I'm here with Mason and the cats and the goddamn radio that's always, always on, and it's getting to me. Is this the fabled "cabin fever?" Is this how I'm supposed to feel after spending the better part of a week cooped up in my house with no way to escape? Because I'm on the verge of getting out a frying pan and seeing how many whacks it takes to break through the wall. Or taking one of these crutches that are leaning against the wall and breaking all the windows with the padded knob at the bottom. Or soaking a roll of paper towels in maple syrup and wallpapering the living room. I'm very tempted to be destructive, simply because I have nothing else to do. I mean, I even considered cleaning my room. It's crossed my mind several times, but each time the unimaginable horror of it all chased the thought away. I'd rather break things, anyway.
However, I have nothing to break. Nothing that I could break without consequence, anyway. There are plenty of dishes and decorative things that would shatter wonderfully, but in addition to the shit I'd get from my parents, I'd have to clean it all up. It's not worth it. So instead, I'm going to plop myself down in front of the television and wait for my brain to rot.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
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