Dear You,
It is doubtful that anything I have to say in the "letter" will make even the slightest bit of sense. Above everything else, confusing people seems to be what I'm best at. I have been on this crusade for the best of jobs that my no experience can possibly get me. Needless to say, it's a short list. I have made some progress, if that's what someone would call it...I got an interview at the glorious Domino's Pizza. They claimed they would call me, but you and I both know what that line really means. I also applied at the UPS Store just a few stores up from Domino's and received a similar answer. You know, all I want is to get a fucking decent paying job, get an apartment, and leave my dad behind. Sad that even approaching adult-hood that these typical adolescent turmoils seem to continue to plague me.
Now, the second best thing I am good at is definitely focusing on emotions more than could possibly be healthy for me or anyone else for that matter. Generally steering towards the negative spectrum of things...I can't seem to think of anything but. I wish someone just understood that I do not chose to analyze things so incessantly, I have to. Compare it to this; how long could you hold your breath for? Roughly about a minute...IF that. Any longer and you'd have to have some freakishly enormous lungs. Well, that is what trying not to think about things is like. I say, "Okay...I'm not going read so deep into this one." A few moments pass and I can already feel my chest get heavy. Although, it isn't like this all the time. A good majority of the time I am flip flopping between extreme happiness and deep despair. I bet by know you think you have me pegged. You think I am some emo little bitch. FUCK YOU. : ] I know I am "emo" just as much as you are, you judgmental FUCK.
Anyway, this "letter" is for you to know a little bit about the way I think/feel, that is, assuming you care. To be honest though, I don't care if you do or not. All I know is that I care. It helps shouting all this shit aloud at the top of my lungs when I'm home alone, or translating my thoughts through this keyboard so more bastards like you can judge me on it. Good. Judge. I fucking encourage it. Because every God damn thing I have ever had the fucking balls to put in this Livejournal is completely honest. How many people can really say they're being honest? Also, I know all can relate to this on some level.
And on a much lighter note, go fuck your mom. Ta-ta, kiddies.
Sincerely,
Kelley
Now, the second best thing I am good at is definitely focusing on emotions more than could possibly be healthy for me or anyone else for that matter. Generally steering towards the negative spectrum of things...I can't seem to think of anything but. I wish someone just understood that I do not chose to analyze things so incessantly, I have to. Compare it to this; how long could you hold your breath for? Roughly about a minute...IF that. Any longer and you'd have to have some freakishly enormous lungs. Well, that is what trying not to think about things is like. I say, "Okay...I'm not going read so deep into this one." A few moments pass and I can already feel my chest get heavy. Although, it isn't like this all the time. A good majority of the time I am flip flopping between extreme happiness and deep despair. I bet by know you think you have me pegged. You think I am some emo little bitch. FUCK YOU. : ] I know I am "emo" just as much as you are, you judgmental FUCK.
Anyway, this "letter" is for you to know a little bit about the way I think/feel, that is, assuming you care. To be honest though, I don't care if you do or not. All I know is that I care. It helps shouting all this shit aloud at the top of my lungs when I'm home alone, or translating my thoughts through this keyboard so more bastards like you can judge me on it. Good. Judge. I fucking encourage it. Because every God damn thing I have ever had the fucking balls to put in this Livejournal is completely honest. How many people can really say they're being honest? Also, I know all can relate to this on some level.
And on a much lighter note, go fuck your mom. Ta-ta, kiddies.
Sincerely,
Kelley