sometimes i just wanna go on and on and on and talk non-stop and reveal all, from my insecurities to my hopes, feeble as they are, to my deepest not-so-darkest secrets.
and have someone analyse it and tell me what i already know.
the reason i very much want a shrink is because i think it'll be exciting to have someone listen to you and analyse you and compare you to scientific case studies just so they can attempt to identify whatever mental ailment you may have.
i, on the other hand, am one-of-a-kind.
i suffer from the virus, CAF88. it inflicts only people with the same palm imprint as mine, who suffers from severe myopia and who has a high ADORATION of any written works from Orson Scott Card.
symptoms? insanity. mood swings. stinky feet. short bursts of endorphins when inhaling greasy fumes of tahu telur. tendency to pick fights for the sake of raising her voice.
and i don't care if this next sentence is going to sound immature or whiny or angsty or whatfuckhaveyou.
I HATE THE COPYWRITER AT WORK. and not even a strong dislike, mind you. i loathe, no, no ABHOR the waste of protoplasm, as talented as she is. and i can only give half a fuck if i'm caught proclaiming my strong loathing for a fellow colleague.
shoot me, sue me, ban me, whatever. better yet, defame me!
i feel like having thai food all of a sudden siah.
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