Chisel Me Pretty

Prozac, why hast thou forsaken me…

Okay that’s a little melodramatic. I’m not dying or anything. I’m just frustrated. I don’t understand this depression spell. It’s bugging me and turning my brain into an ice block. I need an ice sculptor to come at me with a chainsaw and sculpt my brain into something awesome like a swan or a naked dude or Disney World. You know how people enthusiastically peruse the internet for tattoo ideas? I’m shopping around Google for ice sculpture ideas. Because my brain is a giant hunk of ice that needs some beautification. In all honesty, aesthetically personalizing one’s brain makes more sense to me than aesthetically personalizing one’s skin. Oh wait, that actually makes no sense at all.

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