calendar girl

I've deviated, but I'm not a deviant.
I'm sick of the routine, again. I'm sick of the effort. I'm sick of the starfuckers. I'm tired of conversations about nothing. I'm really fed up with sycophantic dialog when what we really want to say is "Hey, you're a tremendous fuck up and your mistakes are making other people miserable."

You can't even tell people they suck anymore.
I'm bored with the people I love, disappointed in my acquaintances even though they've done nothing wrong. My life breeds ennui like stagnant pools of water breed mosquitoes.

There are so many things I want to give. But I have nothing.

Shape up, or ship out.
What does the air taste like way over there?