the world is eating my soul

Once again, I am left to my own devices as Papa and une petit Diablo have gone forth to roam free and wild, the desolate streets of this lonely town. And this time, I have nothing but a stock cube to chew on, my cigarettes have gone missing, and I feel really rather sorry for myself. To my distress, I just burnt the back of my neck with my straightener, there’s a hissing noise coming from the living room, and, once again, there is no coffee to be found in the house. How is this possible? Neither of my parents have a skerrick of caffeine in either of their houses. Good news, however. Psychology, English and my Child Studies are finished. Well C.S almost is, I only have to collage another 7 or 8 pages. Fuck.

I just methodically searched my entire room, and my precious cigarettes are nowhere to be found, which makes me think that someone must have stolen them. That is so bloody annoying – the very weekend that I need some sort of stress relief the most, and they bloody go missing. That’s alright; I’ve just discovered another stress relief. I just lit the leg of my dressing table on fire.