clutching at straws that broke the camel's back

Don't particularly like the bathroom mirror either.

Maybe when I get back history will have spontaneously rearranged itself and that won't say what it says. Maybe I won't have felt the need to write it. Maybe it doesn't matter because I'll have to take it down in a few days anyway when the real estate agent brings strangers with money around to see if they want to buy the place.

I have to go; I'm going; I'm gone.

AHHH. DE GOGGLES DO NASINK.

There's a full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. The first thing I see when I get up in the morning is me. All of me. Ugly as all fuck.

There's a dresser mirror in my old bedroom, but the dresser itself was so piled with books and comics and sundry that it seeing my reflection in it wasn't an issue.

Maybe it's just me, but I really can't deal with that first thing in the morning. Methinks it's contributing to this growing urge to smash my face in broken glass.

I can't even cover it. It's just glass stuck to the door. Nothing to hook anything over. I suppose I could toilet paper it. Or, something- post-it notes. Yes. One of those giant multicoloured pads should do it. I can wake up to a rainbow of obnoxious smiley faces every single fucking day!

...

Maybe I should just stick to the ugly.