I'm experiencing an old kind of discomfort as the tragic story of The God of Small Things unfolds, discomfort last experieced, to my memory, when Stephen King movies were inflicted upon me at the age of 5 by my trash-for-brains trailer trash step mother who had her own unique brand of irresponsibility. Did anyone ask me if I wanted to watch Pulp Fiction at age 10?

You know after several people telling me I should write my story down I'm thinking even though blah blah it's not that bad people have been worse of than me etc, it would help me get over the anger that I feel everyday at all the irresponsible, selfish adults who have only themselves on their mind. There would be a range of characters. The violent pervert misogynist Coke-guzzling Peter who watches porn movies with names like 'Absolute Domination', and the trailer trash known as Cheryl the obese monster who feeds off the humiliation of little children for breakfast.

In other news I stayed at Kuba's last night and we genuinely had a good time. That's twice in a row now. Things are a bit different between us at the moment. It's difficult to describe. Our little non-relationship seems to be evolving and I like how I feel after I've spent time with him.  ¶ 18:44