Filth

I can't get comfortable after spending 63 minutes attempting to fix that jilted sidebar. It's not fixed, and my eyes are dry and I blame the settings. I can't blame mozilla, or explorer or whatever the fuck the wretched AOL uses. I don't know the names of things, or how these nameless objects taunt me. This must be what down-syndrome feels like. While everyone assumes you're too dim to know the pain of limitation, you just focus on memorizing the buttons on your microwave. And though you may not distinguish the whispers, you can feel the hunger at the slip of a fingertip.