Liar, liar, pants on fire
So, was my title obvious enough? Or does one needs to have the IQ only befitting for Holmes to be able to read past the lines? Har hardy har. I'm back at the bloody airport, bloody looping the same bloody song, bloody berating myself for being a useless sack of shit. As always. It's amazing how much I can screw up before I hit the proverbial shitty ending, and then scramble around trying to fix things that I deliberately screw around with. Yep, you got that right. Do a shitty job on purpose and then go mad trying to make things right at the eleventh hour. Stupid right? Well. Humankind needs stupidity. They don't learn otherwise. I see faces that bear resemblance to no one, tamp out the noises that doesn't register, and ignore the ricocheting scraping of the whirling fan. It's bloody annoying. I'm bloody annoyed at everything. I'm at a place I have learnt to hate, doing something that does wonders to my self esteem, self worth, and keep on list...