There should be an accent over the e in cafe. But there isn't.

If there's one thing I know, it's that I haven't had enough sleep.

Getting up in the morning takes more effort than it should. Really. I have to threaten myself to convince my legs to slide out of bed. I'm sure there should be an easier way.

There's a rolling sensation in my gut, like two boxing prizefighters with a long grudge decided so say "Fuck it", and go all out. Or maybe I'm hungry. I won't know until I feast later on today.

I decided my friends weren't good for my health, and cut about half of them out of my life so that I don't become so frustrated I die of an emotional heart attack. Hormones drive teenagers insane. Which is only several levels of fucked up because we build the foundations of our life during these years. Great, isn't it?

I noticed the vending machines in the school's cafeteria are the same models that were used in prisons ten years ago.

Being broke makes you think that you'd be better off with money. Well, you're probably right. But you'd still have some amount of problems that would distress you. (If you have a disposable income, please give me a donation. After all, the world doesn't need another starving writer, does it? I'm sure a well-fed writer dining on corruption and the treatments of the "better" life probably writes so much more eloquently than me.

Probably.

Maybe I'll find out what other starving writers think when I move to California next spring. I might find other people to bitch about life with me.