And it’s not like I go around ruminating on how much better I am than everyone else. I don’t feel that way. I just straight up don’t wanna be here.
I’m so over the ‘guy who really wants you to know he doesn’t care about the current thing’ type of guy.
The afterlife, according to various schools of theology, basically works like an algorithm to sort you into communities of people most like you. Something to consider.
I’m tempted to ridicule writers whose protagonists are also writers, but my protagonist is a suicidal goth bitch, so I guess I’ll refrain.
I picked up one of the jumbo screw-top Monster cans at a truck stop, and it’s a real shame they aren’t bpa free, because I’d love to just refill it over and over.
