Every time I toutch the guitar I suffer.
Yet I write at least one song every week.
Every time I toutch the whip I suffer.
Yet I have someone bound and gagged on my floor frequently.
Every time I toutch a book I suffer.
Yet I read everyday.
And so far, no doctor knows what is wrong with me exactly.
I'm also quite poor at the moment, so no travelsn and no purchases In the horizon.
I am emotionally detached from all sorts of feelings that indicate I still have a heart. This frankly saves me a lot of grief.
And weirdly enough, I find myself pleased with life at the moment. And I smile a lot.
I have more playmates than I can handle and this keeps me very busy and my whips shiny.
No time to think deep thoughts and get lost in the craving of grey matter.
I don't bother anymore.
To round it up, Physical Pain, Inspirational Diarrhea and Carnal Pleasures.
That was my winter.
How was yours?
