I once had a livejournal, and a deadjournal, I spilled my complainy guts there, then there wasn't much to complain about.
Still, unless you're in the right frame of mind, it might be unbearable to be around me because I complain so much about the usual stuff, but don't mind me, it's just part of what/who I am.
Why am I complaining then?
Insatisfaction I guess.
This time of year brings back memories of old. The cold wheezing wind, the dark as black nights, the icy breaths of air my nose takes in.
I probably just need a hug or two.

Hello there, this is going to be quite empty I suppose.