(no subject)
growing up is really really hard. I wish someone would tell you that when you're five, and that your five year old self would realize it, and be really awesome at being five and not wishing you were 10.
because I would give alot of money to be five.
like, alot.
I think, mostly, that I'm happy. I'm trying to focus on me. and realizing that having people who don't really want to be in your life in your life is pointless. so you should probably stop talking to them at parties and letting them pretend that they're really going to call you this time. because probably, they just won't.
probably. And even if they are really really tall and good looking, it's not really worth it. probably. probably.
(though in the back of your head, you know that the next time you see them, you'll be nice, and they'll be nice and awkward and apologetic and there will be too much gin involved, and somehow they will end up going home with you, and you'll have to awkwardly kick them out at 4 in the morning, because you have too much pride/self control to just give in and let them stay, and they'll tell you, yet again that they're really going to call this time. and you're really going to hang out for real. and then they won't until the next party that they know theyre going to see you at, and they'll leave yet another awkwardly endearing message on your voicemail saying that they hope they see you, and the whole damn scenario will repeat. yikes).
Maybe, sometime in the next week, someone will figure out how to fast forward winter, and then everything will be much, much better.
I really hope so. and while they're at it, maybe they can just finish making the 11 teapots that I need to finish, and wind my warp for double weave.
seems likely.
because I would give alot of money to be five.
like, alot.
I think, mostly, that I'm happy. I'm trying to focus on me. and realizing that having people who don't really want to be in your life in your life is pointless. so you should probably stop talking to them at parties and letting them pretend that they're really going to call you this time. because probably, they just won't.
probably. And even if they are really really tall and good looking, it's not really worth it. probably. probably.
(though in the back of your head, you know that the next time you see them, you'll be nice, and they'll be nice and awkward and apologetic and there will be too much gin involved, and somehow they will end up going home with you, and you'll have to awkwardly kick them out at 4 in the morning, because you have too much pride/self control to just give in and let them stay, and they'll tell you, yet again that they're really going to call this time. and you're really going to hang out for real. and then they won't until the next party that they know theyre going to see you at, and they'll leave yet another awkwardly endearing message on your voicemail saying that they hope they see you, and the whole damn scenario will repeat. yikes).
Maybe, sometime in the next week, someone will figure out how to fast forward winter, and then everything will be much, much better.
I really hope so. and while they're at it, maybe they can just finish making the 11 teapots that I need to finish, and wind my warp for double weave.
seems likely.