So I'm currently sitting in my room, looking at my computer, thinking about a variety of things. Some of these are minor, like "Why do Microsoft keep forcing "blog"-centered shit down my throat?" and "I wonder what would happen if I styled my pubic hair?". Some of these are slightly more mind-crushing: I'm supposed to be a writer. I'm supposed to be going into writing as a career. I'm supposed to have written over a hundred stories. That's funny because I'm really a huge fraud. I can't write, have no ideas, you know, the rest of it. If I actualy did write something, I doubt many people would actually read it to be honest. In such a capitalist society, I'm not sure I'd be entirely successful, and that's an understatement in my opinion. And then there's why I'm actually here. The few people I liked to call friends never talk to me in any way, unless they need their computer fixing or something. If at any time God or Buddha or someone got up and made someone talk to me, they'd tell me I'm an "uneducated phillistine" and then hang up/log off/whatever. It's pleasant knowing no one you know really respects you. Over the years (I've had two attempts at suicide which I don't care to talk about), I've managed to build up a drinking problem. I only drink whisky, and possibly vodka. Usually they're just there as temporary solutions, sadly. Remember those friends? They encourage it. I would usually only drink until I'm dizzy, but now it's until I start singing. I never drink in company, though recently I've taken to doing it secretly at college since I'm stressed there quite often. Overall, as an unloved, unwanted and talentless sack of crap, I keep looking to venture suicide. I come here just to share this, since so fewer places are open like this. If I've broken any sort of rule, sorry, and if you want me to talk about something more, I'll go into it as long as I feel like it.