i'm rolling on my bed, dying in thirty percent pain and seventy percent self-pity. dearest gastric, happy now?
drowning myself in self pity once in a while (like once every 20 years) is therapeutic! but of course, it would be 75385239 times better if my dear buddies had comforted me instead of telling me crappy stuff like 'i need to find someone to seal the nine tail fox in my stomach'. *grumbles*
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