Once one has made a complete muggins of one's life, they get an angel, right? An angel shows up, shows me how bad off things would be without me, shows me how to find the path of righeousness, yadda-yadda. Right? It's a Wossname Life, A Xmas Thingy, all that jazz, right?
Where's my friggin angel? Where's my friggin flying car? What the hell has a fella got to do around here to get some relief?!
My spine is... in remission. Sure, I had a bad couple of days this week, but pffft. No big. Pain is my body telling me to go fuck myself.
In theory, my brain-chemistry's not bad. I mean, how the hell do I know? I have to second-guess 75+% of my emotions nowadays. 'Am I just feeling this way because my meds are off?' 'Did I just say that because I'm at a manic peak that I can't feel?' 'Why the FUCK didn't I off myself back when I had a good excuse?!' 'Why is there a stick of butter there?' You get the point.
