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At this citrus smelling table, I write. Not for myself, but to myself and from myseslf. Writing whatever as a release. If only I can do that when I'm angry instead of smashing bottles and destroying mirrors. How many years of bad luck should I have for all the mirrors smashed? I've been smashing mirrors all my life. Sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose. It just happens. Breaking them through smashing, or through falling into them. True story, I fell into a mirror. Lost my balance and all that. Mirror became shards of glass splattered and scattered everywhere about the bathroom floor. Me never hurt as always, even if I was intentionally trying to smash and hurt myseslf from the shards of broken glass. It just doesnt seem to hurt me. Either I'm used to the glass or I'm just tough. I think it's just me being tough.