Changes All Around

Hey there guys, long time no I see, I know. I'm sorry! Really I am, you have no idea how much I've been trying to get a decent post on here. I swear, I've started at least 28 (ok, that may be a slight exaggeration on my part but somewhere close to that number) posts but they are all absolute shite so I just end up either subjecting them to my loverly delete key - which is both my best friend, and worst enemy I must say - or banishing them off to piles of drafts that I've already semi-composed where they will slowly wither away into nothing and then die. Yeah, that's right, die.

If you're reading this, you've probably noticed a design change. Well, at least, I hope you've noticed it. If you didn't, you may want to start paying more attention - or taper off the drugs that you're invariably on, whichever applies to you.

I know, I know, I'm always messing around with the design on this thing: it's not my fault I'm never satisfied, clearly, in this case, I must blame my parents. After all, it must be their fault that I have inexplicably high standards, right? Right?! That's where my logic train stops at. Ok, gah, I know that's bad man ... I'm telling you, there is something seriously wrong with me lately. I've turned into this subhuman, nocturnal creature who is rarely seen puttering around my house in a zombie-esque state before two in the afternoon; I stay up all night doing nothing, only to be awaken, quite inhumanely may I add, by my mudder at 12 telling me 'it's time to get up ... you bizarre little cretin you'. Ok, maybe she doesn't say the last part out loud, but goodness knows I bet that's what she's thinking. I basically respond through my usual means of communication (unintelligible grunts with a few choice words scattered about). And I've taken an immense dislike to the concept of bathing. Yeah, that's right, my family tells me that I need a bath almost every day now, but yet, I prefer to fester in my own filth. My excuse? It's more environmentally friendly as I'm not only using less water and chemicals, but I'm providing a place where wildlife (ie flies) can thrive (aka my hair). But that's probably too much information, right?

Yeah, my filter - you know, the one that tells me what information is an over share, and what isn't - clearly is on the fritz, as with the rest of my brain. With that in mind though, I'm going to attempt to do something that I haven't done in ages and tell another story about yet another embarrassing event that happened when I was a young and somewhat innocent, child. Expect it in about a month.

(No, not really, well at least ... I hope not. Though, judging by the current state that I'm in, it could be possible. I just threw that out there so I wouldn't disappoint you by not being able to meet a reasonable deadline - like three days: that would just put too much strain on myself, and dude, stress is the last thing that I need now. I'm already too fragile, stress might prove to be fatal). ---- See, look at that shite I'm writing right now, I don't even know what I'm trying to say, so I highly doubt you can comprehend my incoherent rambles.

I'm just going to quit while I'm behind here.