merry christmas mother fuckers.

so i've been writing this book, right, and i get this fantastic high when i put something down just the right way. then, often, i get a fantasticar high dreaming about the things i put down as they actually happened and sometimes, even, taking them farther (fantasicist) so that i wake up feeling sad and disoriented, but when that wears off i write fantastic.

the heart of my everything changed places.

my stereo is suddenly working, which is weird because it didn't work before and it's never been a stereo.

everything was much easier when i was a bitch.

i haven't been here for a while and i'd make up a really great excuse except for that i don't feel like it.
so i have these "sober up" pills. i got them as a promo in the mail to the store but i'm not going to sell that shit because, i mean, come on, it's shit, but i have to do something with them right? and i should probably do it drunk. (it only makes sense) so if someone could buy me a shot of jager right now that would really be cool.
can you bring me digital cable too?

so it's been like a month and a half since my last entry but since enough people asked about the sand freckles that it's possible one might read this now. . .
sand freckles=when you're intoxicated by half beer and half sleepiness and happen to be alone on a beach with a boy who probably has freckles but you can't tell because the "freckles" might easily be sand and you don't really care one way or they other--they are quite appealing.
you know, nothing good comes on the tv after 1am. you would think that this is when the best shit comes on. enough people are up, looking to salvage or continue their nights. if i had some mad tv or law & order i could easily stay awake AND keep drinking. instead my options are watching a live church show, going to sleep, or driving to a bar that is already trying to get people to leave.

sand freckles, clean scooters, sheets for one, spilled red polish with glass.

today i thought, "maybe if i listen to his cd all day i'll get sick of it and that will make me sick of him." then i realized i was just looking for another excuse.

so i would submit this set i shot, really i would, except for neither one of my computers now the "memory key" that my friend made me buy are down for the task. tomorrow i'm trying on another computer--my parents'. pray that nothing gets stuck there.

i look like ass and i really don't care. like, i have on no belt and my therefore-baggy pants are rolled up to reveal some fucked up socks that don't match my thin, over-worn tee shirt. interesting time for a cute boy to walk in the store. but that's how it happens right?

if i had more good cds i'd spend all of my nights on my balcony with music and miller lite. what would i be missing?