(no subject)
So, it's like this. You know when you know there's something wrong goin' on inside your head, but no matter how hard you try to cure this mysterious bag of shit that's been planted on your doorstep and then set on fire, you can't quite come to figure out what the fuck is behind curtain #1.
So many things running through my head, and most of them...are STUPID! Ya know like when you can't stop thinkin' about that time you told that guy that really stupid joke because you figured the two-step act you've been preparing for is best saved for a 'shared moment'!
And just because I substitute love with alcohol, I'm not a bad person and honestly I think it has improved my social skills. This is definitely one of those cases where if driven to the end, I will jump off the fucking cliff and I know Barney himself will make sure I hit the rocks because people like me suck.
Where this all came from, I have no clue. But I know in my gut that if I don't change something, the outcome will probably be hideous. Searching for happiness is like an impossible mission in my head, and it doesn't have to be the Oh I'm so gay I want to buy the world a coke shit, it can be as simplistic as a friend coming over and giving me a flower they picked from someone else's garden because the urge to pick it was so damn strong...that could give me a moment of happiness. Because everyone knows there is no such thing as permanent happiness, it is a series of slices in time where you're genuinely happy.
To me, the best kind of relationship be it friend, sister, boything etc. is the kind where you can say fuck off and then come back an hour later, have a beer and all is good. Mind you talking each others problems out is all good too, but some people are just not meant for that way of life. And when it comes to men, seven wise words that most women know.."What's love got to do with it!" But even Tina fucked that one up, in conclusion we are screwed!
Something's been disturbing me, why is it that my dryer (any dryer really) always eats my right socks!? Makes no fucking sense, I think over the past year I've bought 100 right socks and now I only have seven. And why is it, that everytime I go to the laundrymat there's at least one guy that you know goes there at least twice a week, trying to pick up on girls. Go to a fucking bar or something, slipping me a little of your secret softener won't get you on my good side!
And for my final conclusion, I will always beilieve my blues can be fixed with a big plate of the cheesiest nachos and some Ben Harper~