This Isn't My Style

The room is still too warm. I'm drinking cheap passionfruit juice from concentrate.

The conflict is still killing me. The drama is giving me a headache, is what it's doing.

This isn't my style.

This isn't what I DO.



Sensitivity and Relativity are two words I think a lot of people could learn right now.

Ah, I'm being a hypocrite, aren't I? I played all of these games in my own time.

That was three years ago for some of them, more than five for others.

I'm over it. I want to move on.



Don't you know, the jokes are funny sometimes, but not when they hurt.
Why can you offend in the name of humour, but heaven forbid we do the same?
Why do we have to choose sides?
Is there any other way I can respond to your voice other than to throw myself into your arms?
What is it you want? What is your best case scenario?


I've got one more final. I've done well so far. A few more hours of reading a poorly written, unpublished textbook, highlighting, drinking this unearthly orange liquid and letting Scandinavian music fill this hot room with a feverish tempo.

God, we need this break...