" Justin Bieber is a cunt. Period. "

It seems okay to cry at home, beside your friend, after a long day that was primarily composed of a string of mini, soul-grating events, not events of a dramatic life-changing nature, but events like waking up with a hangover and finding that all your clothes hanging to dry are still wet, and so being forced to wear wet clothes to work, and at work finding that your co-worker’s called in sick, which leaves you with an incredibly stressful and busy day ahead of you, so stressful and busy that you don’t even get lunch, and that you fuck up numerous times, and that you accidentally snap at your girlfriend, who fails to see that you’re just extremely busy and stressed and instead takes it as a personal affront but you basically have to hang up on her because currently the amount of work you have to do is like this massive freight train just rolling; events that just seemed to reinforce the frustrating notion that today the universe actually hated you, and the people you had to deal with were unrelentingly adversarial and angular, or at least they all for some reason seemed to have coordinated today to be the day that they’d just have no empathy whatsoever for your growing sense of exasperation and simple desire to be home literally holding hot chocolate in your hands and resting your nose above its brim – that they’d all choose today to have absolutely no time for extra considerations and the fact that your life is hard, too, and that you honestly want to be a child again, in your actual childhood home, in the distinctly-smelling basement next to a space heater with a blanket around your shoulders eating graham crackers while contentedly watching your dad play video games, one of the smallest and safest people on the planet.

I found out that: Hollywood is in LA and LA is in California. All these years I thought they were all three different states in America… awks.