This life sucks

This is pathetic.

What is there to live for anyway? ... But then again, what would be good enough to die for? I try to contemplate the meaning of my pitiful existence. And it's sad. Because I'm feeling sad.

Feeling slightly suicidal. Just kiddding.

That's stupid.

Cause that's gonna make more trouble for me. I don't think I want to mess with Heaven, Hell and Purgatory all at the same time. I just want one solid destination... one solid and happy destination. Preferrably Heaven.

Where is happiness? What is happiness?

Don't answer that.

I'm not even sure if I should be thinking about these things at my age. Life's too short... yes, even I have to use those cliche phrases sometimes. Haaay, if that's so, what's the point in buying original cds for instance? But then, there's no point in hoarding money once you're dead, right?

This is depressing. Haruki Murakami must be rubbing off on me again... as well as my siblings' giddiness. I just tend to go opposite of whatever's around me. And there you have it. My mood.

Bow.

Exit.