grey

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...
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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...
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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...
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