I HAVE MISSPELLED WEASELS

I just finished an almost 4500 word short story for a new friend of mine who was gracious and lovely enough to inspire its writing.

I feel like I've just moved a mountain with a shovel, even though what I actually did was some good old fashioned *STOP LOOKING AT SHIT ON THE INTERNET* hard work. Now I'm going to relax, eat a fuckton of chicken nuggets, lay in a comfortable bed and wish I had a bottle of vodka with me.

I am getting paranoid about the state of my inner skull. Just thinking about my brain makes me very aware of all the blood in it, and I hate that, It makes me want to bang my fucking head on a table until this feeling goes away.

There are weasals outside and they do not condone what I just wrote. I'm going to have to get rough with these little fuckers.

My head hurts, BAD like really bad, but goddammit I'm not going to take this shit from my own brain.

I'm going to go wrap my head in ice and try to freeze the little bastards to death.

The name of this entry will be I HAVE MISSPELLED WEASELS!