"It Will Wash Away the Stain..."

O_O I seem to have written this story. Last year.

How... horrifying. Ugh. Sometimes I think I shall obliterate all my old writing, and then I realise I don't have the energy.

T'any rate, working to-morrow, so must turn in now.

Had Chinese food for dinner. Much love.

Gah. *incoherent*

"Someone You Know, Or Just a Stranger?"

I feel ill. And tired. I want to go to bed and get up around four and then read for a while before coming downstairs in a fuzzy flannel nightdress and eating toast, and then I want to change into something comfortable and boring, instead of decent work clothes, and play Scrabble with Waen and watch old films.

I do not want to finish Chapter Two of Grote's Comprehensive Guide to Wheelock's Latin; finish my report of Iceland; do algebra that for some reason I am getting all wrong; or go off to work in an hour and spend five hours standing up trying to deal with Mary and Alberta fighting; and no one ever understanding what I'm trying to say; and Michelle hating me because I work with Linda; and Rebecca, who can be far too chipper for her own good.

Also, I think I'm going to have a sore throat. I want to go back to bed, for the love of God! *cries*

On the plus side, I finally got Vivachi burned. But I have no CD cases.

"This Strange, Deranged Expression of What's In My Heart..."

I shall now quietly take myself off to hell.

My heart hurts.

EDIT: Waen came in just now and hugged me. My God. Sweet child. I will finish her story if it's the last thing I possibly manage to do, and then I shall go to hell.