shit

So I just had maybe a fist's worth of both peanut butter and brie. My thoughts run like this:
-Must buy more brie or flat mate will kill me.
-Fucking dislike the atmosphere in our flat now. I dream of living solitaire; I shall one day end my corrupt cheese-fiendish days and ripen some creamy mold of my own, unwatched by the fettered foodlords who form the bourgeoisie of my food-filled (and now fueled) imagination. Alas! Such cheesetopian ideals don't belong in a world where cheese is not bountiful, and what's more is not mine.
-She really is going to fucking hurt you for being such a fat greedy monster who ate all the brie.
-Right now, the remaining mouthful coalescing with your gullet would be the only spell needed to make you as popular as St. George's dragon.
-You fucking little monster you.
-I would have interesting dreams but its 5.11 am and ceebs to sleep.

Things to be chirpy about:
-I have both my legs.
-That oldish pub man said I was "bang-tidy" (apparently this makes me chirpy. Which is weird).
-seeing sister next week.

things that make you go FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK:
-probably gonna get chucked out of uni.
getting fatter and fatter and fatter.
sleeping pattern is fucked.
I have no motivation to improve. At all. It's like I want to hurt and disappoint people, just to spite them.
I think I'm depressed (although its probably mix of tiredness and deflated feeling from lack of work/praise/success/any actual fun) but refuse to take citalopram again.
-I have ulcers all over my tongue from throwing up and my naturally pointed teeth have made "holes".