Day 67:
Lying around pitying myself. The heating in this place is ridiculous, I’m either producing icicles or I’m peeling all my skin off in a bid to stop sweating all the water out of my body. I’ve noticed a recurring theme in my blogs: the notion of ripping my skin off. I’m not into all that, I swear. “Over-active imagination”. That’s what my mum told our neighbours when I ran out of the house last summer screaming, “ALIENS! THEY’RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!” It’s clearly not my fault that I watched a freaky film before an unexpected nap.
My tutor’s always have a big fit about my imagination too. In High School I drew a pretty talented drawing of a pig at a slaughter house. It was on a par with freakin’ Tim Burton, I swear. But low and behold, it was considered “too graphic for year 9s!” Too Graphic? Why is the world so sensitive these days? If we weren’t all so touchy about offending other people we’d all be living much more chilled out lives. I recommend the government bakes up some space cakes and goes to town on them at their next meeting. The result would be classic.
Screw this place! I’m too good for this mediocre world. Give me mars or something.
Today is Helen’s 19 th birthday and she is spending it frantically typing her essay for Art History. No one has wished her happy birthday yet, it is 23:48 and she is still silently hopeful that someone will remember. Her mother will text her at 12:14 with a badly spelt “burthday” wish, but for now Helen sits at her desk chewing vigorously at the bits of skin surrounding her previously devoured nails. “Les artiste” Helen clenched her hand into a fist and knocked on her forehead. “..painted flowers…and stuff.” She let out a fierce growl and opened a new tab.
Lying around pitying myself. The heating in this place is ridiculous, I’m either producing icicles or I’m peeling all my skin off in a bid to stop sweating all the water out of my body. I’ve noticed a recurring theme in my blogs: the notion of ripping my skin off. I’m not into all that, I swear. “Over-active imagination”. That’s what my mum told our neighbours when I ran out of the house last summer screaming, “ALIENS! THEY’RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!” It’s clearly not my fault that I watched a freaky film before an unexpected nap.
My tutor’s always have a big fit about my imagination too. In High School I drew a pretty talented drawing of a pig at a slaughter house. It was on a par with freakin’ Tim Burton, I swear. But low and behold, it was considered “too graphic for year 9s!” Too Graphic? Why is the world so sensitive these days? If we weren’t all so touchy about offending other people we’d all be living much more chilled out lives. I recommend the government bakes up some space cakes and goes to town on them at their next meeting. The result would be classic.
Screw this place! I’m too good for this mediocre world. Give me mars or something.
Today is Helen’s 19 th birthday and she is spending it frantically typing her essay for Art History. No one has wished her happy birthday yet, it is 23:48 and she is still silently hopeful that someone will remember. Her mother will text her at 12:14 with a badly spelt “burthday” wish, but for now Helen sits at her desk chewing vigorously at the bits of skin surrounding her previously devoured nails. “Les artiste” Helen clenched her hand into a fist and knocked on her forehead. “..painted flowers…and stuff.” She let out a fierce growl and opened a new tab.
