…she made it about herself.
Okay, so maybe that's a little bit too harsh, but she did ruin my day, somewhat. And it's my birthday.
Apparently when she's not happy, no one can be, but why should we care. Sure I might be hypocritical because I know I talk about myself a lot, but can't this one day be for me to be happy? Where she won't be able to make me angry or sad?
But, alas, 'twas not meant to be. Here I am, on my birthday, typing this just to not be angry for the rest of the day. My therapy for the day rather than jut drawing.
This is probably going to be short, thus is probably going to be never read by anyone else but me, but it does help.
Self-diagnosed prognosis. Or mental illness. I'd like to think that the couple of years that I studied general psychology makes me qualified, or at least knowledgable.
So the forecast for today: sun, definitely hot, with a chance of rain by 'her' and a healthy dose of KFC.
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