Your eyes like buckets of macaroni.
Here is your answer, world, and only acuz I am drunk!
I am beginning to clean my room and actually turn it into a place to live, for the first time since I haven't lived with my parents. My room in Fullerton was a mess, although nothing compared to how it's gotten over the past few years. Then I moved into the place in Burbank and never really unpacked. The townhouse, I lived in one room for five months and the other for seven, then packed up and moved here. Everything is all hodge podged and I hate it. I hate how truly messy I let things get. I think maybe four people in the world understand that - M, E, Y, and C. We're talking old laundry, old food. It's embarrassing. It's beyond hoarding, I think it might be some actual psychological issue. Is it sad or promising that my new direction is to clean up after myself consistently? I cleaned my bathroom and living room about two weeks ago and managed to keep them clean. I think this is good.
I knew I would read a lot lately so I have been. A book on the Bermuda Triangle properly freaked me out before my mom and dad's trip to the Caribbean. So far they haven't been sucked into the void. Bermuda book, a book on colonial torture methods, The Last Unicorn, The Story of O, The Illustrated Man, and The Wasp Factory all within a month period. I'm thinking about some non-fiction next, either a book on Rasputin or a guidebook to millinery.
After getting my heart broken I went and blindly fell in love again. I have a tendency to fall in love with characters (when I was a kid I was especially fond of non-humans ... robots, animals, skeletons, all in an asexual but passionate way) as opposed to actors, because we probably end up knowing that character better than we'll ever know the person who played them. Anyway. It's a weird, wistful happysad, a perfect love that never matures but also never breathes. It's what I call "the Labyrinth effect," the feeling I've gotten from watching '80s fantasy movies my whole life. I didn't realize it at the time but it was the sadness of imagining a future as it would not be. Anyway. I'm in love with John Bender.
HEY! YOU! I HAVE TOO MUCH WODKA!
I could have ended at the first sentence. It's late and I'm just now getting drunk, putting up masks and watching Heavy Metal, alone. At least now I have a closet I can hide in. Let's not lose sight of love.
I am beginning to clean my room and actually turn it into a place to live, for the first time since I haven't lived with my parents. My room in Fullerton was a mess, although nothing compared to how it's gotten over the past few years. Then I moved into the place in Burbank and never really unpacked. The townhouse, I lived in one room for five months and the other for seven, then packed up and moved here. Everything is all hodge podged and I hate it. I hate how truly messy I let things get. I think maybe four people in the world understand that - M, E, Y, and C. We're talking old laundry, old food. It's embarrassing. It's beyond hoarding, I think it might be some actual psychological issue. Is it sad or promising that my new direction is to clean up after myself consistently? I cleaned my bathroom and living room about two weeks ago and managed to keep them clean. I think this is good.
I knew I would read a lot lately so I have been. A book on the Bermuda Triangle properly freaked me out before my mom and dad's trip to the Caribbean. So far they haven't been sucked into the void. Bermuda book, a book on colonial torture methods, The Last Unicorn, The Story of O, The Illustrated Man, and The Wasp Factory all within a month period. I'm thinking about some non-fiction next, either a book on Rasputin or a guidebook to millinery.
After getting my heart broken I went and blindly fell in love again. I have a tendency to fall in love with characters (when I was a kid I was especially fond of non-humans ... robots, animals, skeletons, all in an asexual but passionate way) as opposed to actors, because we probably end up knowing that character better than we'll ever know the person who played them. Anyway. It's a weird, wistful happysad, a perfect love that never matures but also never breathes. It's what I call "the Labyrinth effect," the feeling I've gotten from watching '80s fantasy movies my whole life. I didn't realize it at the time but it was the sadness of imagining a future as it would not be. Anyway. I'm in love with John Bender.
HEY! YOU! I HAVE TOO MUCH WODKA!
I could have ended at the first sentence. It's late and I'm just now getting drunk, putting up masks and watching Heavy Metal, alone. At least now I have a closet I can hide in. Let's not lose sight of love.