Sunday, 26 January 2014

I signed up for the psych ward

The other day, I decided I had enough.

I tried to explain in a civil, polite and constructive way that I'm mentally somewhat off and that I'd like to make some arrangements to make my life more agreeable but BossDad said the usual stuff people say: Take it easy, cheer up, you look just fine, don't stress over things, you're overdoing it, the world won't bow to your silly little emotions. I've been licking the edge of nervous breakdown for longer than I'd appreciate so I got angry, called my doc and told him to please arrange it.

I wanted to write an intelligent entry in which I would explain in a manner easy to understand what's going on. I'm too tired and my brain is failing me. Dear reader, rest assured that I'm somewhat stinky because... erm, I either work or I just lie in bed, I don't have a single pair of jeans that would need unbuttoning when putting them on because food tastes weird most of the time and finding, fixing and eating food is too difficult to perform too often. I'm not mentioning the dishes to be done, preferably three weeks ago. I sort of wish my apathy reached the level when I won't be arsed about getting up, it seems to me that I have a sleep deficit of 30 000 hours.

And now excuse me, I'll try and sleep.

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