| Current mood: |  flirty |
I am a Whore.
AH Michele Michele Michele I will see you in two weeks!
I can't get up, I'm so tired. I didn't even DO anything. I didn't even DO anything. I just sat with the turn signal on and I heard it through the music becuase you kind of always do. But I don't even remember where I was turning to get. This is all so pointless and fake. We don't actually love anyone and I don't actually want to see anyone and I don't actually remember any of the turns I make.
I lied. I love you.
Brennan says his tummy hurts; I totally know he's lying but I don't care and I rub his back anyway.
One hand of nails is painted pink and the other painted black.
I know everything that Michi says is pretty much true. "You create your own paradise" is essentially what she's always told me when I bitch and complain about the stupid people I'm around. You make it work out. No one comes to save you. There is no such thing as a "wonderwall" or a savior or anything. You make them for yourself: maybe through other people or maybe through the things you do. But they don't exist independantly.
So seriously, fuck the whole world up. I don't care if they don't see things the way I do. My sight sees much further than yours. And I know I've hurt and helped just as many people and anyone else. You're a poser virgin. You're a slut and so am I. We pretty much all are. And that's quite quite with me.
My sight sees much further than yours.
I am in love with the Velvet Underground.
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