I wished that dreams and wishes could be caught that easily. And that shooting stars actually existed.

Work work work. Really. I want this to end. I'm all fucked up with stuff that ain't going my way. I'm all fucked up that good luck keeps bouncing off me. I'm sick and tired with all of this. I hate it. I fuck hate it. I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I'm getting sick. As in sick sick. My throat's fuck annoying. My nose's runny. But really, sometimes I just want time to run away from me, so that I can make my own time.