I didn't know what hate felt like, not hate that comes after love. It's huge and desperate and it longs to be proved wrong. And everyday it's proved right it grows a little more monstrous. If the love was passion, the hate would be obsession. A need to see the once-loved weak and cowed and beneath pity. Disgust is close and dignity is faw away. The hate is not only for the once-loved, it's for yourself too; how could you ever have loved this? - The Passion pg. 92
This consumed my night last night.
Along with the sickness. By friday I will be walking death. I'm sure.
Tonight, I will Eat sushi. Either in a resturant, or in my living room depending on weather, and will watch Lost. How good could this night get? Really?!
My short term memory... or lack there of... is really taking an affect on my life. It's scary.