Hell is the actual beginning of my real last name.
And the knowledge I'm often guilty of that "never replying in a timely manner"-thing.
And being stuck in mom's hell kitchen. It's got TWO loud wall clocks. TWO.
And the road between the bus stop and school in the mornings. Not because of school, but because it's usually full of spit. Not many things gross me out, but spit on the road is one of the things that do.
And the knowledge that no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to truly catch'em all.
Tho, the deepest and darkest circle of my personal hell is a small apartment of about 35 square-meters, in a small town where I know noone and nothing, the most common face-to-face social interaction is with either a therapist or a cashier, I'm stuck in some weird limbo where what few things I actually desire in life always -just- manage to escape my grasp for one reason or another, and I constantly have to worry about if I'll be able to stay living there or end up having to give up "everything" and go back to living with my sweet dearly beloved mother who's totally not going to end up being the bane of my existance some day.
...waitaminute... >->
