I should be asleep, but right now this is about the only time I have to do things that I want to do.
Why is it that every effort I make must feel so extremely insignificant? It's probably just because I'm very tired, but I feel as if nothing I do really matters; as if I could go out and try my very hardest to try and change just one freaking thing and I'd get nothing out of it.
I guess this is that teenage angst everyone's been talking about.
Oh well I'm off now to read more about Frankenstein and his hideous monster.
Au revoir et a bientot, belle madames.
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