it's been a while since i've come up with anything new. nothing is new; nothing that matters. one thing that has remained constant is bitterness. my fingers are numb from typing in this cold, student house room. heat is money, and money is something none of us have. i am kept warm, though, by schadenfreude.
i'm unsure what i'm bitter about. life, i suppose. existentialist stains don't wash out easily.