the working week couldn't have started worse. my computer doesn't work, my stomach doesn't work, my collegues don't work, my parents' marriage doesn't work, my plan to find some kind-hearted company doesn't work, so why is this even called a working week?
last night i laughed for the first time in ages thanks to caelestia's cellphone dictionary, which for some reason suggested that her mother would have wanted to name her "fargod". i still giggle if i think about it, but i'm afraid that's my hysterical laughter.