Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life.
— Mark “Rent-boy” Renton (via hemsyisaussie)
Spent about two hours researching revenants and similar undead creatures for writing and ended up on a Wikipedia page about automatonophobia, the fear of dolls, puppets, and other humanoid figures. It included pictures. Hmmm. I wonder who might possibly have said phobia in the extreme and an anxiety disorder?
Well. Now my chair’s up against the wall and I’m sitting on my feet trying to be as small as possible and I’m glancing around my room every two seconds and trying not to breathe or type too loudly for fear ‘they’ might hear me.
I’m losing my mind. Why do I do this to myself?????
