smoke. in the entire freakin world.
I'm very bitter this morning. I got about 5 hours of sleep every night this week. My room looks twenty times worse than my brother's. I can't find anything. Everything in my house reeks of cigarettes. I can't stand that even more because it's not me that's smoking. Yet, every morning when I wake up, I don't marvel at the wonder of being alive another day, no, I wake up to the sensation that I myself had just smoked 2 packs the previous night. Thanks to the nifty way my living room is set up right by the stairs,all that lovely smoke comes parading up to my room in all it's ill glory. And no one seems to care that smoking may be the cause of his death before he should die, or a contributing factor to my mother's breast cancer, or the reason I never am able to get rid of my cough once we're all locked up together indoors for winter.

I'll try to become happier and write a more uplifting entry later.

Posted by Maleta at 7:23 a.m.