dude fuck this shit
Jon and RyRo have left Panic to pursue their own artistic ventures. So the band is down to half it's members.
So that's why Panic's official site only has Brendon and Spencer in it.
And their Facebook profile picture.
And why New Perspective sounds different.
Oh my god, this is so unreal it's not sinking in. I can't wrap my mind around it because WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BABIES?!?
*wails incoherently to the stars*
This might be what post-partum depression feels like. I am heartbroken for my emo boys.
+
November feels like such a long way off and I pray everyday I won't lose it (it meaning myself) before the appointed time, but it's such a struggle, and in my head I am clawing concrete and shaving wood with my fingernails trying to escape from going to work. Sometimes, I also find myself daydreaming about being on the beach and flaunting my ridiculous boobs in a bikini don't ask me why I have no answer or about getting drunk at a club with friends and hitting on anything with a penis.
I. Am going. Batshit. Crazy.
+
Remember the novel of my life I was told you guys about? The one I have to write?
It's not jelling and I am just 937 words in. The characters aren't clicking, and don't get me started on setting, because I've got Camus (main character) running atop roof shingles and cobblestone roads which I have never seen in my life except in Intramuros and I feel like this story has to be set in a place like Renaissance England but I can't defend why.
Also, I want someone to show up in a bloody cravat, but that's French and will wreak havoc on said setting. And do I make my main characters wear pants, trousers or pantaloons?
+
Good thought of the day because I have done nothing but whine: I am getting thinner. And I'm not hallucinating about it. Even women strangers are making comments now, and that would be awesome if it weren't so creepy. My boobs are really ridiculous. It couldn't get more ridiculous if I decided to paint rainbow unicorns or flying baboons on them.
So that's why Panic's official site only has Brendon and Spencer in it.
And their Facebook profile picture.
And why New Perspective sounds different.
Oh my god, this is so unreal it's not sinking in. I can't wrap my mind around it because WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BABIES?!?
*wails incoherently to the stars*
This might be what post-partum depression feels like. I am heartbroken for my emo boys.
+
November feels like such a long way off and I pray everyday I won't lose it (it meaning myself) before the appointed time, but it's such a struggle, and in my head I am clawing concrete and shaving wood with my fingernails trying to escape from going to work. Sometimes, I also find myself daydreaming about being on the beach and flaunting my ridiculous boobs in a bikini don't ask me why I have no answer or about getting drunk at a club with friends and hitting on anything with a penis.
I. Am going. Batshit. Crazy.
+
Remember the novel of my life I was told you guys about? The one I have to write?
It's not jelling and I am just 937 words in. The characters aren't clicking, and don't get me started on setting, because I've got Camus (main character) running atop roof shingles and cobblestone roads which I have never seen in my life except in Intramuros and I feel like this story has to be set in a place like Renaissance England but I can't defend why.
Also, I want someone to show up in a bloody cravat, but that's French and will wreak havoc on said setting. And do I make my main characters wear pants, trousers or pantaloons?
+
Good thought of the day because I have done nothing but whine: I am getting thinner. And I'm not hallucinating about it. Even women strangers are making comments now, and that would be awesome if it weren't so creepy. My boobs are really ridiculous. It couldn't get more ridiculous if I decided to paint rainbow unicorns or flying baboons on them.