We all strive to be happy, no?

When I was younger my train of thought went something like this :

If I got into an accident, everything would be alright. I won't have to take Chinese, and Mummy won't punish me, and I won't have to go to school and they'll be sorry and

Typical nosh.

Yet, today I found myself thinking like that again. Falling into a trap of self-pity and the need for petty vengeance.

I have been struggling with several difficult decisions for a long time now. My usual response is to not do anything, to try and remain in a comfortable spot instead of dashing out into the unknown and damn scary (yes, I know I am the one who allows them to frighten me).

How do you respond to an attacker when you are bound by moral ambiguity? The benefit of doubt - ill, stuck in bed, pent-up fustration, only worried about your welfare, damnit, it's probably your fault anyway...

Still, it was a cheap shot.

It hurt.

I had to restrain myself; stop myself from flying at her and tearing into her. I wanted so badly to make her pay - make her feel the fustration I felt, drege up all the things she did that she accused me of hypocrite! doing. All I could do was keep my face stone. But my eyes, traitorous things. She saw it in my eyes and flew at me.

I tire of this.

I'm sick of living in a world of masks. I'm tired of dancing around people' images, tired of translating what people don't really mean. Peoples' games. Friends, comrades, family, enemies. Too many masks, not enough plain speak.

I am exhausted.

But it is my own fault.

I live in a world of escape. Comics, music, books, dreams. I thought I lived in the present now, after a stint of living for the past. No. I only moved from one shell to another.

I caught me at it again: I wish I had bigger problems, so I don't have to worry about this.

Enough pity.

To work. I will publish this, to remind myself of how stupid it is to indulge in, in, this.
To work.

To work.

To...

head hurts like coconut