throw me into the sea

i feel like shit. i feel like not doing anything ever again. speaking, or coming up with someting to say for that matter, is like hell right now. i dont want to eat my dinner, i dont want to go out and watch movies, i dont even really want to write. i wrote up my monthly expenditures, did a basic weekly shopping list. you know, things that seem productive but arent really in any way, shape or form.
i should do some cleaning, sweep the floor in the kitchen, clean up the bedroom, vacuum in the hall and scrub the bathroom, but me and my bald head cannot be fucked. i should take mums advice from last weekend. when you feel like shit, get up and move around. when you feel good, that's when you stay home and have lazy days. endorphins and shit.
even as i think about getting things done i feel happier and more like a can type fast. i still dont want to eat my dinner, but that's okay.
i need to buy kitchen things. tupperware, a food processed. beater. you know, the usual things that one dreams of. i need coffee. i need to not smoke anymore, even though it is so enjoyable.
i need to throw my face around, wear pretty things. just generally be exciting. i need to throw caution to the wind and blow bitches up.
i need to get a hold of myself and not just write words as they come to mind.
peace out, im off to move things around. love.

no body broke your heard

dear people,
you are all lovely.
now, there is nothing worse than the last hour of work. time is a shitstain on the face of humanity. i think i have said that a few times before, possibly in those exact same words. the brain, what a wonderful thing.
so, i have found myself in a mood. not a good mood, nota bad mood, but a waiting mood, in which i wait for things to happen with so much gusto its almost unbelievable.
very rarely do i ever have nothing to say, but it's one of those days. one of those bits of life where maggies brain is silent. it says nought but how happy i am.
which whilst a good thing, also leads to bad things because i must vent something. happy doesnt write for me, or draw, or do anything really. it just floats me through life on a cloud of indecision and carefree annoyingness.
i miss my friends. i want them to call me, or reply to my message. hah! the gods just smiled or something, because i just got a reply to my message. what a fluke.
sick of answering phones in my vegemite jumper. its not difficult, i just think think vegemite deserves more in life than answering phones.
mon mere seems quite keen on the idea of me leaving the homestead for bigger and slightly less better things.
Love her.