Fucking Hell. I need some Pepsi Max.
I have a hairdressers appointment book for today. I hate the hairdressers; they always give me disapproving glances on the state of my utterly-insane-matted-mess-of-curls. Still, I'll get it trimmed because my mother wants me to (shit it won't be the perfect length anymore) then I'll buy some bright red hair dye and go home and give myself a bit of a makeover. Fun.
My wrist fucking hurts. You know when you cut and the actual blade causes no pain anymore? Then you realise that you've fallen back into the vicious cycle of self-harm. I thought I was over this petty little personality defect. Fuck. I really just deserve to die right now.
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