I think I'm going insane again, some more. I keep hearing squeaky breathing, as if from a small animal.

At least it's not voices again, I suppose.

I just slammed the car door into my leg. Because I didn't realise my leg was there. I am surpassing my usual idiot quota ...

And I can't stop thinking about food, probably just because my current mantra is Don't think about food ... Makes me wish I had been born into a society accepting of individuals.

Oh damn. I'm going utopia on myself now. Don't you hate the way things you try to block out end up seeping in through every pore and contaminating your very core?

Oh, damn. Rhymage is never a good. It generally means I'm being introspective in a trite, cliched way.

My nails, painted a deep durple/green colour are acting in spite of me. Just because I'm home today means they are all unchipped and un-crap looking. Whereas, if I'd gone out, they'd be all ick right now.

It's a conspiracy, I tell you ...

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