Means lang yan beybe

So the stirring begins. And it is never going to fucking end unless I give myself that fucking importance kasi ang baba ng tingin ko sa putanginang sarili ko. That disjoint feeling may come from the fact that the nicotine in my brain has cleared up. And it's still an everlasting sucky feeling because of the trajectories we're in. And so fucking what if my trajectory is not a trajectory but a fucking crossword puzzle? At least it's my fucking crossword puzzle. And who the fuck am I kidding when I think that this is going to be alright? And who the fuck am I kidding when I think that anybody cares about that fucking trajectory? I'm headed towards plain jane-ville, and I can't fucking accept it. I want to kick myself hard and quick so I can wake up from this fucking slumber. And I will not accept the fact and the reality that is being shoved into my fucking throat: the reality that I will have to smile at someone else's FUCKING ACCOMPLISHMENTS WHILE I SETTLE FOR MEAGER pats-on-the-fucking-back. I miss being selfish and angry at least I had some work done and some self-importance to fall back on. What's funnier is how that distorted shit-view that you're-doing-alright is perpetuated by people who have a fucking clear idea that you-look-a-wee-bit-dazzled-beybe but make the effort of saying how you are doing fine. Standards were created by the world, beybe, and it doesn't help giving out that condescending look. Does not help, at all.