hummingbird

i'm still sick. and my father is coming over.

i want to shout at him. i want to bolt the door. i want to call him and instruct him not to come over.

i want to call him, shout at him to not come over, and then bolt the door.

i'm putting Interpol on, because X&Y is copy-protected and hence i won't buy it. i'm blogging while pretending to work. i'm blocking out the world. i'm sick and tired and i don't know what i want to do, in the next fifteen minutes, days, months or years. i'm panicking, i'm paranoid, i'm impossibly placid.

his goal in life was to be an echo.