No. That’s all. No matter what the story you hear, I am still, at 33 and with all the encouragement in the world, a complete puss.

On the other hand… I’m ready to kill. There is no need for such drama, and honestly, at the moment, I’m not entirely sure to whom I should be directing my anger toward. It’s entirely possible that that person is me…. But no.

I’ve got better things to worry about.

“What a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive.”

Fuck all.

{note: I was drunk enough when I wrote this that I’m not what I meant by most of this. I might have an inkling of an idea, but nothing solid. And that amuses me to no end at all }