I'm struggling to not shut down. When the mind is put through these levels of ridiculousness, it just wants to self-preserve and collapse in on itself. I'm trying my best to avoid house-of-card analogies here because cliches must be reserved for more deserving occasions like death. Or the annual family get together. This would be a golden time to do some actual writing if it weren't for these blasted exams that I can't, for the life of me, remember why I'm taking. I write best when I'm fucked up. True story. Misery breeds creativity and wotsits.
At this point the only thing that would make me feel better is a really cruel joke at someone else's expense (Yeah tried Dlisted. No, not cruel enough) or unholy amounts of whiskey and a one way ticket to The Fuck Out of Here.