I love headaches, they make me so bitter

I wonder how quickly this cheap acetaminophen will work. All I can hear is evil Dr. Shwartz stating in that as-a-matter-of fact manner how the cheap stuff is just as good as Tylenol because essentially they’re the same thing. Right. Such a hideous voice, I wish it would stop. I did buy the cheap stuff this time in order to feel less of a marketing whore since I’d rather be a human guinea pig. Man, I love this life, so many choices at your disposition. Anyhow, I’m really hoping this stuff does its magic quickly so I can get back to the fascinating topic of metabolic pathways in which I can continue imagining myself to be the short and stout 14-3-3 protein on its many exhilarating journeys. Actually p53 beats 14-3-3 in exhilarating factor, but the latter has a red coloration in my mind so I obviously have a penchant for it.

To speed up the healing process, I am currently rubbing my knotty back against my chair though I wish some skillful fingers could untie these evil pressure spots instead of this rubber chair that’s falling apart. Ohm....

Maybe I should stop being such a hypochondriac. Always thinking I’m about to die, always thinking I’m infected by some horrible disease because I know the past is meant to punish.

I’m just realizing my writing has always been restricted to manic depressive ranting. I wonder how many variations of "I'm depressed" I’ve managed to come up with since I grew my first pubic hair. I suppose I never had anything I’d like to write about when I’m all happy and dandy. Who writes when they’re happy? Why take the time to scribble thin layers of ink onto unresponsive paper or type in front of a dull computer screen, when you can be outside jumping in a puddle making some noise, stealing sunshine into your bag or having the greatest sex of your life? Meh… Not that retarded depressive whining is better.

Why does hate last longer than love?