Dear journal type thing that I’ve ignored for a while for some reason,

First of all, so much for constant uploading to let out my inner feelings regularly to lead a healthy, fulfilling life. That failed. Regardless, exams were over in May. It is too cold at university. My body and blood were obviously not designed to fit with snow and .. ew. Anyway. I can’t wait to go back home. Where I won’t have to look at shitty American bullshiz for a month. There is way too much. It’s not cool. Criminals are stupid. Case files are stupid. Pictures are so gorey. I don’t like blood or cut up people. I don’t care what crazy murderers can do anymore. I don’t care if one comes after me right now. I want to sleep. I’ve had one too many redbulls lately. My room is a mess. I stopped doing my laundry 3 months ago. I need to stop buying new clothes. I have to pack. I need to do my laundry in order to pack. I want to go home now. I want to sit on a chair, have a beer and not think about everything I have to do. I have too much work. I think I’ve mentioned that earlier. My thought pattern isn’t reasonable or sane anymore. They have the minimum amount of psychology incorporated in this program. I need my psychology. It’s unacceptable. I don’t like famous politicians. They are all stuck up and stupid. I could take them down, after a decent amount of sleep. I want to sleep and not wake up for 4 days. I want to listen to happy music and love life again. I want to see my friends from high school. I want to go shopping. I want to spend everything I’ve ever earned in Hong Kong. I miss my babies. I miss my children and their smiles and laughter and overall outlook on life. I miss not being the child I should have been. I want to play my violin. I want to see Andrew Bird on January 18th. I want to sleep.

I’m sick of word counts and paragraphs and typing (irony) and writing. I want to jump on my laptop. I love my Mac. I love Steve Jobs for creating this masterpiece. It’s almost as beautiful as the most beautiful place ever. It’s gorgeous. I love it. I call it “Buggy.” Because I call everything electronic I own “Buggy.” I have a dead plant in my room. I hate smart criminals. I hate it when they figure out how to piss us off. I hate seeing them in prison. I hate how they make fun of my shortness and woman’ness and I have to pretend to not care. Though I don’t. They’re in prison hating life more than I’m hating life. I hate prisoners. I hate law. But I love law. I love taking law. I love knowing every little rule and regulation that is so incorrectly written and stated. I love knowing all the flaws in the stupid system. I love knowing what’s right is generally never right. I love the stupid system. I love law. I love psychology. I want to conquer the world, but instead I complain. I want it to be sunny. I think I’ll buy sunflowers tomorrow. If they are still alive somewhere in this city. I can’t wait to go back home. I miss my bed.

Okay. Bye. I have to write a report on criminal number who cares and why I think he was prosecuted as he was. Because he was a failure at making clever plans. Idiot.