Word Choice

Tonight I write out of sheer boredom. The slim cracks of light on the wall from the stove clock fuel my mind with words much more extravagant than fuel, but sound even more cheesy. Frustration doesn't seem to bother me lately at all, which is strange because I used to get so stressed out over the smallest things. I should be mildly stressed that I haven't found an apartment yet, and we're supposed to move this weekend; but strangely enough, I'm not. After living with little to no food, not much of this inane, little shit bothers me anymore.