General
Teetering constantly between impregnable depression and unreasonable euphoria (save for when I experience one or the other), I like to think. The Superbowl—my once-a-year opportunity to get legitimately excited over muscled men lathering their dominance over one-hundred yards of not-grass—is over now, so I’ve nothing to do but masturbate to confusing and rather unpleasant fetish porn go to bed. Can’t wait till tomorrow, when I get to not eat lunch and stay behind in the orchestra room, trying to play that one song I can almost play and die slowly on the outside.
I’m bored…
Entertain me, internet.
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