One thing that I'm reeaaally good at doing - procrastinating. F*cking great!
Been doing nothing for the past six hours except for making some baked pasta. The last thing I want is to die at home, alone and hungry. Writing wasn't an option because I was running out of idea. I cannot think of an ending for my fiction story. Going out isn't an option because I'm dead broke and I've spent money last night.
I, however, have a few other options:
1) Clean up my apartment
2) Call Eleana and whine about nothing
3) Go out with LAMB and his dad (no spending guaranteed)
4) Go back to sleep
I am sometimes amazed by my tolerance for my disgustingly topsy-turvy apartment. This state of my apartment has given a whole new meaning to messy. It's above and beyond that. It is sickening. The fact that I'm living in this and am able to ignore it even when I've so much time in hand for me to procrastinate is horrifying.
For f*ck's sake, it's only a one-bedroom, how hard is that? I'm sure it'll be easier than to locate my lost diary. Yes, I managed to have lost my diary within this tiny apartment of mine. I'm a little lost since it went missing. I'm a little lost. I know there's no point blaming on the diary but I need a reason here, so let me be!
Even my fingers aren't doing their job well. This is not good.