Louse would cunt punch me for claiming homelessness. Because, I do have a house to live in. A house of anxiety. A house recently described by friends as the cleanest hovel. Because, to be honest, it's a run-down, rickety ass piece of shit, and I hate it, but yes, very clean. Always so clean. My dad is weird. I hate living with him. It's unnatural. Just, it shouldn't be done. It makes me anxious. So anxious. SO SO ANXIOUS. It's only for two weeks. Two weeks. I can do this. I want to vomit. That may be caused by the lack of sleep. I'm going to take my break. And walk around the block. And try and not feel like shit. GOOD LUCK LOSER.
It didn't work. Not really. Maybe a little. Now I just kind of feel a bit hot and uncomfortable. But not really hot. My words aren't real good today. Probably because I only had 4.5 hours sleep last night, and I'm suspicious that on Friday night I may have had barely more than that. I plan on returning to my neat and tidy hovel after work(I finish at 4.30) and going to bed. Straight to bed. I might be lying. I can't make any promises. But presently, I would quite like to go there, and go to sleep. Because I'm RATHER emotional at the moment, and well, maybe it might sort me out. A little. Perhaps? Please? I want the sleep to for ever. LET ME DO IT! Or maybe just for two weeks. Go on.
I'm abandoning finishing this post. I got a pash in the kitchen. Made me happy. I was going to talk about Carl and his ball of pubes, but that can wait till tomorrow. Yes. Ball of Pubes. It shall be the title. Because, yes.
Also, gave my first lap dance to a lovely ginger gay at his 21st. WILL POST TOMORROW.
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