.. just don’t let me fuck up, will you? Coz when I need a friend it’s still you.
And more than half the time I have no idea what Pete Doherty is singing about except he’s very generous with sprinkling ‘fuck’, ‘fucked’, ‘fucking’ and any other way to use the word in his songs. What a fucking divvy. What a fucking waster.
I’m supposed to write an essay titled ‘My Life’. I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
So I went to the beach and sat by myself. I watched the waves rolling in and out, saw a man trying to drown his dog, a few tourists lazing around. I thought of things, my situation, my very limited personal space. I need to live without things and people I need to live with, does that make sense to anyone? Maybe God spoke to me, or maybe I’m going schizo. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but suddenly, watching the overcast horizon, I received an epiphany. Tolerance.
Living with other people. That really sucks. I’ve only had a year and three quarters and already I’m going mental. I’m thinking of moving to my hostel but oh to give up the luxuries of living at home: air cond., broadband, wifi, heated water, washing machine, personal maid (aka Mom) .. I’m such a spoilt person I am .. And besides, there’s always the room mate to reckon with. So, on one hand, you have living at home with mental torture, slow, mental, torture, like taping your eyelids open (maybe that’s why I blink so much). On the other hand, you have living in a hostel, saving at least 40 mins of driving every day. The room mate can always be ignored; no commitment, no blood link, just another piece of flesh. Worst of all is the common bathroom, but there are so many people living there and no one’s complaining, so I don’t see why I should mind.
