I'm sad. Or maybe I'm empty. I don't know.

Sometimes you make a complete ass out of yourself and don't want to show your face again.

This is ridiculous.

A friend told me last night (well, this morning @ around 3 am) that maybe I'm so depressed because everything is perfect. That we, as humans, require some sort of struggle in our lives.

Everything is not perfect.

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It's called "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep" by Phillip K. Dick.