He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me?????????????????????????
He loves me not?????????????????????????????????????????
Who the fuck knows. Why do I give a shit. Why is this always sitting in the corner of my mind. Why do I feel so shitty that he's going to Italy for 2 weeks. Why do I miss him already. Why do I feel it necessary to make it to a year before I'll know if he does or doesn't. Why do his parents still not know I exist. Why do I get jealous that he has an awesome career, and my degree is sitting in a box while I work at a record store and a porn store. Why do carbs make me fat. Why do I only want to eat pancakes and peanut butter cups. Why can't I be a cat so I can really just be in love with my cat, Floyd. Why can I never tell him I do, unless I know I'm getting the same in return. Why is my damn best friend getting married in May, and looking at $350,000 homes with her fiance. Why do I have to be the maid of honor. Why do I feel that by the time the wedding rolls around, I won't have a date. Why isn't my cat human. Why do I get the feeling that when I give him a calling card to take to Italy, he won't call me. WHY DO I GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ALL OF THIS???????????
Fuck.
It's days like these that remind me of how much better I am when I'm alone.
It's days like these that piss me off that I ever gave up cigarettes cold turkey. It's 11 days till my 1 year anniversary of quitting.
Why does he, who was the greatest influences on me quitting, have to be in fucking Italy on that day.
I need a drink.
And a peanut buttercup.
Maybe two.
Fuck.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me?????????????????????????
He loves me not?????????????????????????????????????????
Who the fuck knows. Why do I give a shit. Why is this always sitting in the corner of my mind. Why do I feel so shitty that he's going to Italy for 2 weeks. Why do I miss him already. Why do I feel it necessary to make it to a year before I'll know if he does or doesn't. Why do his parents still not know I exist. Why do I get jealous that he has an awesome career, and my degree is sitting in a box while I work at a record store and a porn store. Why do carbs make me fat. Why do I only want to eat pancakes and peanut butter cups. Why can't I be a cat so I can really just be in love with my cat, Floyd. Why can I never tell him I do, unless I know I'm getting the same in return. Why is my damn best friend getting married in May, and looking at $350,000 homes with her fiance. Why do I have to be the maid of honor. Why do I feel that by the time the wedding rolls around, I won't have a date. Why isn't my cat human. Why do I get the feeling that when I give him a calling card to take to Italy, he won't call me. WHY DO I GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ALL OF THIS???????????
Fuck.
It's days like these that remind me of how much better I am when I'm alone.
It's days like these that piss me off that I ever gave up cigarettes cold turkey. It's 11 days till my 1 year anniversary of quitting.
Why does he, who was the greatest influences on me quitting, have to be in fucking Italy on that day.
I need a drink.
And a peanut buttercup.
Maybe two.
Fuck.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
I'm using my degree... and there are days where I'd rather be in a porn store, or coolass record store.
I was at Plan 9 on Sunday morning... at 10 am. DAMN! I missed everybody in Richmond this weekend, except my friend Mike.