And it really is when you think about it.

According to suicide statistics, Monday is the number one day to blow out your brains. Just when you think “Fuck I don’t like Mondays.” There is always, always, someone who will hate it more or less than you.

Above

Below

and there’s always someone there, and you’re most likely the miserable middle, the one bastard who couldn’t conform to an extreme and played it safe by just staying warm,

not cold, nor hot.

And in the back of my mind I’m trying to recall the one line my grandmother used to unconciously repeat. Some Jesus bullshit. Some fictional barf.

These people feed my ire, and I feel like the scum on the edges of a dirty toilet.