It helps to know that crying at a point in time when I'm surrounded by deadlines is not conducive, which makes emotions very straightforward- eat when you're hungry, sleep when you're tired- and yet it pushes you into an overdrive of sucking your creative juices out. Can I write anything when I'm flushing my emotions down a gutter and sitting atop it? I can't. I feel all my words are forced, ideas are rotten and I hate how the most crucial things in my life have aligned together at the same time, and I don't even have the space and time to cry about not having my grandfather around on my birthday or that I don't know what to hope from my future, that which is in the darkness of a sort, nothing can help. 

The way the world is opening up 'round me, I can safely conclude that the pandemic is over until people start dying and yet my status quo remains the same- rotting in one corner of the room. 

Time to work, that's it for crying and flushing emotions down this toilet of a blog. The idea of turning old without people I love and those who love me back scares the living daylights out of me and here I am, facing that alone. I don't want to turn old, I don't want to be here. I want to be back with everyone who loves me and this isn't it. 

Also, if you're my loser cousin based in the Netherlands, could you please leave me the fuck alone? Get a job or focus on your son. Please stop stalking me for the love of the lord. Get a hobby, friends, whatever. It's disturbing how you find yourself here routinely, especially when you and I have no relationship of any kind. You, your family; all of you suck balls and I'd rather you leave us all alone, including my fucking blog. Seriously, get a job. 

For the rest, the wishlist is on. Hit me up if you want.