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Salad Days

Nothing makes me happy.

Well, that's not true. What I mean is that, when it comes to smoking, nothing makes me happy. When I'm smoking, I get really frustrated with myself and wish that I could just fucking quit already. When I'm not smoking, I hate everyone who's "allowed" to smoke and wish that I was "allowed" to smoke too (whatever the fuck that means).

Nothing makes me happy.

Apparently Hobo Ken, my secret stalker, is trying to quit too, and he seems to get where I'm coming from. He sent me a picture of himself this afternoon, which made me feel a lot less like I was the butt of some kind of stupid joke.

I think I feel that way a lot of the time.

Today I've chomped my way through lollipops and toothpicks. I have plans for this evening, and, once I return from them, I plan to collapse into bed as best as I can.

It feels a little bit bad to be freaking out all over unixd0rk. It feels a little bit good that lurpy's been checking in on me. And I feel a little bit less like The Hobo Ken is laughing at me, though I still can't seem to stop crying. I feel so stupid so much of the time. I suppose now is one of those times.

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