1984 by George Orwell in my ears.
I'm trying to deal with the fact that I'm done with RG Veda, once again, and for now.
I really should work on that emotional wreck and mindfuck I have to go through every fucking time I have to read over or watch over or play over something that is extremely dear to me. I mean wtf, how am I supposed to explain my gloom to colleagues and acquaintances? I won't always be available to be emotionally and psychologically retarded. I have commitments. I will have more.
If only my fucking facial expression and my fucking voice weren't that fucked up.
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