Let me just say this: I don't like being told what to do.
Tuck in your shirt, Cam.
Cut your hair, Cam.
Put down that knife, Cam.
No, no, no! Beat it, bucko.
Seriously.
If you want me to do something, you better order me to do the exact opposite. I'm easily manipulated. I just don't take orders well.
Which brings me to my next point: Reality, and my interpretation of it.
Recently it has come to my attention that my view of reality is actually physically skewed. Occasionally time and space become meaningless. I'm fairly sure this isn't the ideal state of the universe.
In fact, I think it might just be me.
Furthermore, I think it might just be all the chemicals I've ingested on a semi-regular basis since around Year 9.
I gave up drugs once, in Year 12, at the start of Term 3, so I'd have a clear head for my exams, and it did the "trick." I started again at around New Years or so... Recently I went without drugs for three weeks, but then withdrawal symptoms and general small-town boredom initiated more drug use.
I don't like being told what to do.
Not by you. Not by The Man. And especially not by my body.
So, shove it, withdrawal symptoms. I'm not taking any drugs for the next two months. Got it? That's right, motherfucker. You messed with the wrong guy.
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