Why don't you do something constructive?
My mom always used to say that to me when she thought I was being lazy. I always thought the word constructive was an adjective to describe a literal something that was being constructed. So whenever she told me that, I thought I had to construct something. And so I usually went for the construction paper. Because if you're going to construct something, what better to use than a product with the word construction right in the name? Nothing, that's what. And my mom would always come back into whatever room I was occupying and say that that wasn't what she had in mind. And I was always so confused.
My roommate keeps eating my food. And leaving me notes about chores...that are dated....and smiley-faced. And not putting a new hand towel in the bathroom after she steals the one in there to clean up when she has sex with her boyfriend. I need to get out of here.
Group project = epic fail. I did my part, and it's on youtube. Bitch better recognize.
For a really long time, I've been on this high ground about people not being able to deal with getting older. And I still am a little bit, just cause I think society conditions us to not be able to accept certain things about ourselves. I mean, everyone'd be a lot more cool with getting old and fat if we weren't inundated with advertisements every day about staying young and thin. I'm turning 25 this year. And that's the age when everyone starts bitching. And I was like, "pshaw, I'm not gonna care. Age is just a number. Time is a man-made invention. And besides, I feel like an ooold soooouuul." But it is maybe affecting me. Don't know if it's coincidence that I'm at the quarter-life crisis age. But I'm the age my mom was when she had me. And I can see where Jon Norton will eventually start balding. And I'm never going to be able to lie down on the Stables floor during rehearsal again. And I can already tell which friends will stay friends once I'm gone, and which ones won't, and the ones that will are few. And this home I've made is really just an apartment in a string of apartments in a string of places I've called home in the past and will call home in the future. And I don't understand emo kids. And 2012 is just a fantasy for everyone who doesn't want to deal with getting old. It's the second coming without the inconvenience of being Christian. It's Christianity without the tears. And it's all so very weird.
I don't care that ER is over.
I cried like a baby during the series finale of Battlestar.
I expected to get treated like a child during Line in the Sand, and I was surprised to find that I was treated like a professional actor.
I expected to get treated like an adult during Lockerbie, and am surprised to find that I'm being treated like a child.
I want to know if believing in an alien conspiracy is really worth the effort.
This week went by fast.
My roommate keeps eating my food. And leaving me notes about chores...that are dated....and smiley-faced. And not putting a new hand towel in the bathroom after she steals the one in there to clean up when she has sex with her boyfriend. I need to get out of here.
Group project = epic fail. I did my part, and it's on youtube. Bitch better recognize.
For a really long time, I've been on this high ground about people not being able to deal with getting older. And I still am a little bit, just cause I think society conditions us to not be able to accept certain things about ourselves. I mean, everyone'd be a lot more cool with getting old and fat if we weren't inundated with advertisements every day about staying young and thin. I'm turning 25 this year. And that's the age when everyone starts bitching. And I was like, "pshaw, I'm not gonna care. Age is just a number. Time is a man-made invention. And besides, I feel like an ooold soooouuul." But it is maybe affecting me. Don't know if it's coincidence that I'm at the quarter-life crisis age. But I'm the age my mom was when she had me. And I can see where Jon Norton will eventually start balding. And I'm never going to be able to lie down on the Stables floor during rehearsal again. And I can already tell which friends will stay friends once I'm gone, and which ones won't, and the ones that will are few. And this home I've made is really just an apartment in a string of apartments in a string of places I've called home in the past and will call home in the future. And I don't understand emo kids. And 2012 is just a fantasy for everyone who doesn't want to deal with getting old. It's the second coming without the inconvenience of being Christian. It's Christianity without the tears. And it's all so very weird.
I don't care that ER is over.
I cried like a baby during the series finale of Battlestar.
I expected to get treated like a child during Line in the Sand, and I was surprised to find that I was treated like a professional actor.
I expected to get treated like an adult during Lockerbie, and am surprised to find that I'm being treated like a child.
I want to know if believing in an alien conspiracy is really worth the effort.
This week went by fast.