this is crap. i am crap. literally. damn stomach problem aint going away. this is ridiculous. am not suppose to get stomach crap and i am not even sure why i got stomach crap. i mean come on, i was eating everything in hcm city, even the roadside stalls with the suspect meat sandwiches (which is excellent really) and i was good. but now here i am, in spore, home and out of no where i get stomach crap.
spent entire day in toilet bombing the crap outta several major cities. for company, i dragged in mark strand's selected poems, the but anthology and billy collins' sailing alone around the room. so if you are mr. m.s. or mr. b.c. or one of the people on the but anthology (there's a pun here, but i dun wanna talk about it) and you're wondering why the day smells like crap on your end, now you know.
yesyes, i washed my hands.
i am in a bad mood and i can't sleep.
***
listening to: oh, you dun wanna hear.
reading: billy colins - sailing alone around the room.
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