TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE.

Sometimes I just want to choke someone. I mean, I genuinely would love to wrap my pissed off little fingers around someone's neck, dig my nails deep into their veins and squeeze until there is lifelessness between my fingers.

I mean, haven't you ever had that feeling like the only way you'll be happy is if someone dies in exchange? Haven't you ever felt that death is the only solution for some people? Fuck rehab, fuck education, fuck forced sterilization, fuck it all. Give me a gun, bullet and a god damn human target. I feel like there are far too many worthless people on this planet. Too many people with no pot to piss on that act like they're entitled to something. HEY ENTITLEMENT BABIES, GET A JOB AND THEN YOU CAN SPEAK FREELY, UNTIL THEN, DO NOT SPEAK OR I WILL PERMANENTLY MUTE YOU BY PUTTING A .45 BETWEEN YOUR EYES.

I feel like while everyone was out partying this weekend for Memorial Day, I was stuck inside attempting to study, stewing in my own filth and anger and ready to explode. I've probably drank two or more entire pots of coffee today, I'm sweating brown bullets that smell like Peet's House Blend and I'm progressively getting angrier by the second. Thankfully my dad has *most* of our guns locked away, or at least the ones capable of serious damage, otherwise I'd probably take out my entire block because they've been pissing me off all weekend. I feel like I'm losing my mind little by little and I'm not sure I'm okay with that. Under normal circumstances I'd be okay with being a fucking nut job but this has been the weekend from Hell (what's worse is that I've barely moved all weekend) and this is no longer okay. I guess when my life was picture-perfect I was doomed for a bad weekend.

Thankfully when my finals are over at the end of this week, I might regain some inner peace and celebrate with a bottle of tequila. Sometimes I feel like I should have been born a dirty Mexican, eating goat meat and chocolate covered scorpions while drinking mezcal in some fucking mud hut somewhere in the middle of the desert of Oaxaca. Actually, my friend Seamus texted me yesterday saying he was hammered off of Mezcal and someway or another that dirty Irishman inspired my wanna-be Mexican life. So, thanks Seamus. I guess the reality is that I don't want to be a hermit anymore. I just want to be drunk, angry and speaking some fucked up language that no one understands.