portholes

There’s a hole here, somewhere inside my body. It could be where my vital organs are, or maybe not. I don’t know where but I know that food can’t fill it, water can’t either. Perhaps that’s why I’m not growing fat because... the food and drink just passes through me like they have no where to hang on to.

From upstairs, I’m now downstairs. Oh, the wonders of wireless connections.

Other than that, life is just bland. It’s passing me by every day, the same way.

There’s no use calling any one; they’re all preoccupied.

Post-LLB; is this how it feels?

Why do I feel like retail therapy?

Why do I feel like this?

I just need a break from all this not-doing-anything, feeling like a useless doll.

Can someone convince my mom that I’m trustworthy enough to island hop? Please?