What seems to be like a fine start to the week, with classes proceeding smoothly was ruined by a night of boredom, and a smoking session at E’s place under the pretext “I’m celebrating”, sans the tobacco.
I’m not good at this – pretending to be sleep when F comes home, mustering enough energy to have a conversation, putting up a normal face the next morning without giggling at silly things then feeling my absolute worst when trying to trace back whatever the fuck happened.
Some days, I hate myself, some days, I don’t. But on particularly bad days, like this one, when one’s wit is used up (you ever get that feeling that no matter how much your brain tries to process an information, it just cannot work — that there are so many things clogged up in there?), I just feel like dying. This and an over-reliance some of the friends have put on myself (or it might be just assumed), I just feel like shirking away and hide and possibly die and shut off my brain for a few days. F doesn’t help, he just adds to things M needs to process on a day-to-day basis.
But off to Bonn in the morning.
perkaraperkara 