It's late, I'm tired and I'm stressed out. What's new (:

Such late night rendezvous is becoming a nasty habit. That is, I find myself doing strange things way after bedtime. These few days (it's extending into a week! yay!) saw a need for me to write. I am an awful writer, and it's difficult at times to express my already very confusing thoughts. Maybe one day, I will. Or perhaps, I may never be able to do so. But what the hell. I still write. 

Of course, not everything goes up here. There is censorship, but not as much as our very own monopoly of words hint hint street. I rely on my trusty notebook that is black and chic and oh so sophisticated (ok not really.) It has become my person. The one I will call when I get drunk and broke somebody's leg and am weeping in a dark corner of a police station. Plans on stabbing a you know who from a you know what department goes in there. Along with, sigh, deadlines. How can anyone doubt the value of History? It lives on. It's the dead that causes all sorts of trouble. Take a look at the red goo that is our world today. I think that perhaps religious intolerance, economic profits, national security, votes, and even freaking male testosterone are secondary to the historical reasons resulting in war. Ok, that is not the point. I do not wish to humiliate myself in front of all you history major and minor keys, yakking about war. Not to mention you augmented keys in history, the guide of the new twits of the century. I am but a diminished key. I know that. 

Okay, I was talking about deadlines. See? confusing thoughts. Anyway I wish deadlines would reverse the convention and stop bothering us civilised humans in the 21st century. Or go reincarnate or something. There's already enough hunting we have to do.

6 more days