IT WILL, IN ALL LIKELIHOOD, BE A STRUGGLE FOR A CHILLINGLY LONG TIME, "IT" BEING LIFE, THE ONE WORD THAT IS UNIDENTIFIABLE IN ITS PUREST FORM

So, it's been a long time since I posted anything from CotMWM here. So I'll post some different paragraphs/excerpts OK? I can spot a few mistakes, but I'm way too tired to bother with correcting them.

"The cocktail of emotions made my stomach turn. I went to the bathroom to throw up but leaning over the bowl, nothing happened. Nothing ever happens. So I just sat on the floor for a while, reading the messages and graffiti written across the walls, but they were meaningless or meant something but not much. I considered adding something to it but couldn’t think of anything that would be significant to me in a year’s time. It was both reassuring and frustrating; if what I was doing now would not matter in twelve months time, why the fuck was I spending so much time worrying about my life? Why did I stumble out of pubs and clubs, why was I heartbroken? To pass the time was the answer. What else? I pulled myself up from the floor, making sure I didn’t touch the toilet or the weird-looking specs (blood? Semen? In this seedy excuse for a decent pub nothing was impossible) and unlocked the door. Three girls were standing outside, waiting in line, not talking although they seemed to be friends. I didn’t have the energy to figure out their relationships to each other or why they all kept busy on their cell phones while sending each other glares that plainly wished for the others to go to hell. Probably boys, I thought while washing my hands. It’s always boys. How predictable."

-The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin