I want more money.
I'm feeling quite heaftily neaseus, as I have been feeling all day. I'm sick of family tragedy and pain. I don't understand why such bad things are happening to my family, my metaphysics only encompasses so much.
I lost some rather vital stuff on my game for Arc, thanks to an unspecified disk error which refused to be fixed by anything I attacked it with. I am a writer at heart, and there is nothing more galling than ideas or sentances or paragraphs being forever destroyed and lost.
But above all else, I want more money.
I'm sick of sponging of my parents, and off Jye. Because he has to take so much of the financial burden, he can't buy nice things for himself. He suffers, because I cannot look after myself. And next door, people congratulate Sam. I slip into the haze of forgetfulness. I scream, but no one hears. I am alien to them, too foreign to notice, too different to understand; better to ignore. I want to punch someone, something, but I know I will acheive nothing in doing so.
My own private hell, with my name in flashing neon lights above it.