I hate the days that I realize the futility of life. Great, I'm alive. I'll have to work hard, probably at a job I will immediately hate or will end up hating to get just enough money to live, because I can't bring myself to try in school, and I'm well aware that I won't have a family to support. I'm not too charming a person, I understand.

I hate sitting at my computer, seeing albums pop up on my Facebook that some girl took while hanging out with a bunch of her friends in a co-ed mass of laughter and fun. My life is nothing like that. Most girls I ever talk to have some sort of ulterior motive. Hell, I don't even WANT to hang out with the little whores around here.

I hate people. I hate dragging out life simply because I'm loved, and I would feel guilt upon death. I hate this God forsaken town. I hate you, and I hate me, and I've given up. I'm comfortable like this.