Bored boring bore fucking bored

I feel like the volume is turned down and one of those awful news channels I had to watch as a kid is playing. You can’t tell what they’re saying, and it doesn’t matter anyway because you don’t care. You just sit on the couch listlessly as your dad downs whisky and your mom washes the dishes with the obnoxious clanking that all cheap dinner plates seem to make.

I got this girl’s phone number and she’s less interesting than watching paint dry. One of those closed off sort of people that think they can’t say anything to anybody, which in turn makes no one interested in talking to them. I’m not 15 anymore; I wholeheartedly admit that I have no tolerance for the race slowly won, not unless the prizes are to die for. It’s so rare to find something that lasts more than a few days, because everything is so studied and mundane. I can see the pattern already, and it’s worn and tried. Tried too many goddamned times.

I kind of want someone to cut my skull open, take out my brain, and toss it in a deep fryer. I feel like that might drown out some of the mumbling in the back of my head.

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