they shoot romantics, don't they?

50% of 4 am wake ups and five different kind of pills per day left.
ladies and gentlemen, we are heading with remarkable momentum towards the "healing months", as I like to call them.
I am going to paint my head cucumber green, I am going to go to teaching seminars in order to become a professionally paid clown, I will propably spend all my very precious money into buyng tickets for music gigs and have nothing to live on by the time university season starts, I will throw my friend the most mind-blowing-memorable for the rest of your life and paradise too- week long birthday party, including an 80s-70s battle music theme, I will read all the books listed in 'Le Monde's 100 Books of the Century', and I will pretend that I deserve all this. I will volunteer and I will occasionally cry for misery's sake. I will wake up next to someone I love and I will sit next to strangers.
Maybe I will just do nothing.
Just the part of me imagining what I want to do is half the healing. And is the only thing keeping me from having a nervous breakdown.
3 more times of 3hour long headaches in hot schoolclasses writting about eserichia coli and mr. Fermat like the devil himself is chasing my letters across the paper.
there is absolutely no point in me writting all this on the internet. if you read it, it won't matter to you. it will pretty much be like you didn't at all.

when was the last time you secretly laughed to yourself?

last time you danced alone? ( I am talking slow dancing with metal!)

last time you run out and stuck out your hand in the rain on a May afternoon?




I had to pay someone with a degree to teach me how to be human. And how to live like a 17 year old should.

thank heavens it was worth it!

cheers then !