LATE NIGHT → | Now | ← BIRTHDAY
RAGE
2 April 2015, 13:49
This is short.
Since I added full out killing-me running to my workout, I have found in the last week, I’m starting to have all this anger… at ANYONE. Most of the time, I’m way too tired to do anything about it. All my deeply buried, pent up rage is being released, and I’m too tired to stop it.
I just hate everything right now. And I’m only halfway done. I hate that.
DONE NOW.
You just got to kill me. I have to die now. This UNBELIEVELY sucks ass. I know how they make fucking serial killers now. They take a poor, unhinged individual and trap them in a room with a treadmill and a box of Mike & Ikes on a string just out of reach, and make the poor dumb bastard run pointlessly.
DON’T EXERCISE.
DIE A FAT HAPPY BAsTarD.
My heartrate sitting here is 136 bpm, and I really do just want to kill anyone. I saw the stupid slob of a meth-addled fuck neighbor waddle out to the mailbox and after he trudge back to his dilapidated mobily home, Easley sniffed his leftover air for about a thousand years. He must smell something awful.
At minute 30 to minute 40, I was imaging pounding the fat, stupid faces of everyone who had ever looked at me cross-eyed. At minute 46, I wanted just to cry.
Back in the actual track running days, I had condition myself to run at certain songs. It’s pavlovian now, that when I hear the Misfits (for example) I WANT to run. Well, I was at minute 55, wishing for death and Robbie Williams song “A Place To Crash” comes on and for some ungodly fucked up cocking sucking reason, I turned the fucker up to 7 mph and ran.
My advice to you. DON’T EXERCISE. THE DEVIL INVENTED EXERCISE. FUCK ALL THAT.
I want to smoke a bunch of fucking crack right now, and I don’t know why.
