An evening like no other. A completely worthless evening. At least my sickness hasn’t worsened. No sudden rise in body temperature. The weakness is still there. Maybe reading a little Dostoyevsky will make me feel better. Notes from the Underground. Started reading it a year and a half ago. I am a terrible reader. A bad fucking reader. I love to buy books and I hate to actually read them. And I buy only gems. I haven’t bought a single bad book in a life, except for a couple of times from Instagram fucking trash poets. Fucking trash poets! Not all but most of them. Just fucking trash. Can’t write a fucking simple sentence, and they write boring shit. It’s all fucking boring nonsense there these days. I have found WordPress to be a much better platform for sharing writing and finding other meaningful writers. I haven’t found many, here or there, but this place beats Instagram by any standard. Now, off to drinking hot bitter coffee. I can’t even make coffee right these days. FUCK!
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