Fweep.

[chess]

I am: me.
I think: that the technicolour radioactive mutant zombies have eaten my brains once again.
I know: I have some maths homework to do, hence the massive procrastination efforts
I hate: nothing in particular; lots of things that I don't really hate came to mind, like 'the world in general'.
I don't: eat enough chocolate.
I can't: think about anything except deadly chocolate sporks.
I can: fill in inane surveyness and listen to borderline music.
I will: die.
I won't: have sex within the next thirty seconds.
I miss: Him.
I fear: never doing anything worthwhile.
I feel: randombleh.
I hear: Ash - Gone The Dream (how apt), and Trillian burbling happily
I smell: faint traces of chocolate and over-ripe cheese.
I crave: love.
I wonder: why I bother. (Mostly with maths.)
I regret: very little. (Hurting people where I could have avoided doing so, mostly.)
I love: myself.
I dream: of Mars. Once.
I long: for Him.
I care: too much.
I always: randomly blurble on about things.
I am not: dead.
I believe: that there is a God.
I sing: when I remember to.
I smile: sadly.
I laugh: at inane Brunching Ratings stuff.
I collect: dust.
I play: silly monkeys.
I write: highly random science fiction rubbish about people with stupid names.
I await: my January module results, in which I sincerely hope I got a B in Further Maths and hence I can stop caring.
I cook: nice bland stuffness. And pretty well, now, actually.
I trust: God.
I intend: to do a lot more than I actually get around to.
I search: everywhere except the place I know things are.
I look: acceptably pretty.
I shout: in frustration, or sometimes merely for the fun of it.
I whisper: to sound mysterious; or just because I have a sore throat.
I conquer: my own better intentions.
I listen: erratically.
I ignore: everything worthwhile.
I live: because killing myself seems rather counterproductive at best, and I'm too much of an animal to do it.