Well, supposing some people do read this, which is odd for me, a fact that I will hold dear and yet ignore at the same time.
I'm pretty much an attention-whore, I credit this to my lack of attention during the fundamental teenage years of my life from my parents who were too busy arguing over the million dollar house and who would get what but never about me it was just the dollar signs that kept them in court forever. Boo-hoo poor little turned rich girl who never really deserved attention but I feel that I warrant it at the same time.
I am down to less than one cancer stick a day, an incredible feat for an incredibly anxious girl who has to regulate her breathing on a regular basis or face the consequences of irritability and instability.
I go "home" tomorrow, to an apartment that just adds stress due to the dirty dishes and complete unwillingness by a certain roomate who cannot contemplate putting shit where it actually belongs and a boyfriend who thinks we've been going out so long we no longer need to speak about what ails us, or behooves us.
I wish my voice sounded like an eastern european drag queen who learned queen's english. har, har, har.
Purchased Jeffrey Brown comics today, a darling little writer and artist who makes me feel melancholy and too much like myself. Except for the sex part. I am always willing to have sex. Dirty, dirty former Republican that I am.
Betcha didn't know that, huh?
I got business cards for my clothing company today, they are darling and just right for squeamish pro-porn dangerous clothes that I make.
Been worried lately that I am too much like Sylvia Plath, since reading her diary is like reading my own thoughts and am scared that I perhaps, will, as well, attempt to commit suicide and then actually succeed at it on accident.
I am stuffed full of fresh sushi and must awake early to see an old friend that I never really knew too well over coffee and pretension.
well, goodnight lovebugs. keep it real.
I'm pretty much an attention-whore, I credit this to my lack of attention during the fundamental teenage years of my life from my parents who were too busy arguing over the million dollar house and who would get what but never about me it was just the dollar signs that kept them in court forever. Boo-hoo poor little turned rich girl who never really deserved attention but I feel that I warrant it at the same time.
I am down to less than one cancer stick a day, an incredible feat for an incredibly anxious girl who has to regulate her breathing on a regular basis or face the consequences of irritability and instability.
I go "home" tomorrow, to an apartment that just adds stress due to the dirty dishes and complete unwillingness by a certain roomate who cannot contemplate putting shit where it actually belongs and a boyfriend who thinks we've been going out so long we no longer need to speak about what ails us, or behooves us.
I wish my voice sounded like an eastern european drag queen who learned queen's english. har, har, har.
Purchased Jeffrey Brown comics today, a darling little writer and artist who makes me feel melancholy and too much like myself. Except for the sex part. I am always willing to have sex. Dirty, dirty former Republican that I am.
Betcha didn't know that, huh?
I got business cards for my clothing company today, they are darling and just right for squeamish pro-porn dangerous clothes that I make.
Been worried lately that I am too much like Sylvia Plath, since reading her diary is like reading my own thoughts and am scared that I perhaps, will, as well, attempt to commit suicide and then actually succeed at it on accident.
I am stuffed full of fresh sushi and must awake early to see an old friend that I never really knew too well over coffee and pretension.
well, goodnight lovebugs. keep it real.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
cassaster:
I'm sure I did...sadly it's been a LONG time since I saw that episode. Now just about all I remember is the cheesy line, "These girls aren't suicidal, but they may be homicidal..." followed by suspense music. I laughed a bit, but loved the episode.
cassaster:
Wow. Sounds like some of the stuff is going badly...and I'm sorry that your boyfriend is turning douchebag...ish? Well, let me say, if you ever would just like someone to vent to, or simply talk to since I think you're interesting enough to warrant a conversation, call me. I'll just message the number.