i keep telling myself it’s not that hard to draw or sculpt or sew or write music, but then i’m reminded that i’m too much of a depressed piece of shit to actually do anything.
six more nights i’m sleeping in this shithole. i feel like i’m at summer camp, when i would count down the days until camp was over because i was so homesick. now i’m counting down the days until i don’t have to live in this evil place anymore.
