What do you think when you look in the mirror?
I look good. I mean, really good.
No, come on. No one actually thinks that. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m sure a select few think that. Actually, I do think that; On my good days, anyway.
On my hormonal girl days (to put them lightly), I notice everything, every hair out of place, every uneven part of my complexion, every bright red hair extension. Those are my girl days.
On my self-loathing days, I see a thief, a criminal. Who wouldn’t? I see the criminal everyday, but on my particularly conscience days, I see the criminal that everyone else sees. I see the petty crimes to bank robbery, Inside jobs to snatching jewelry from an overly wealthy WASP. I see every cent I’ve stolen, every blueprint, every pack of gum.
I don’t ever dislike what I see, not ever. I just happen to see a lot and I lose my gorgeous mug underneath all that stolen stuff sometimes, if that makes any sense.
Not only do I look good, so does all the stolen shit. I mean, we look really good.
No, come on. No one actually thinks that. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m sure a select few think that. Actually, I do think that; On my good days, anyway.
On my hormonal girl days (to put them lightly), I notice everything, every hair out of place, every uneven part of my complexion, every bright red hair extension. Those are my girl days.
On my self-loathing days, I see a thief, a criminal. Who wouldn’t? I see the criminal everyday, but on my particularly conscience days, I see the criminal that everyone else sees. I see the petty crimes to bank robbery, Inside jobs to snatching jewelry from an overly wealthy WASP. I see every cent I’ve stolen, every blueprint, every pack of gum.
I don’t ever dislike what I see, not ever. I just happen to see a lot and I lose my gorgeous mug underneath all that stolen stuff sometimes, if that makes any sense.
Not only do I look good, so does all the stolen shit. I mean, we look really good.