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Hmm... well yesterday it was Yost with the Most, followed by eleven hours of damn good dreams (what the hell does Eva have to do with anything?), which never happens, so that was a pleasant gift from the subconscious. I keep thinking that God is trying to talk to me, but I'm having trouble descipering what he has to say. Does he want me entirely sober? Does he want me to keep mellow but be honest about it? Does he want me at all? Betta's name is Pancho, but I just call him Betta and it works fine for everyone. My butt hurts from clenching exercises. And one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four. Hup hup hup. Can I be like this one day? Now it is time for me to find shit to do for the rest of the day. Job hunt? I think so... 'cause damn, I need a job. I'm having no fun playing the being-poor game. I also want to start saving up to move out. Once I have my license life'll be grand, but nothing will compare to having my own place, free of parents. Nothing. |
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relaxed.