I just want to be one of the cool girls
I just took ten kps. I'm feeling utterly detatched from my surroundings. Just drinking my coffee and staring at my nails and watching ciara music videos.
I don't know if I'm getting the protocol right, but I know I will sometime in the near future.
So what this all means is that all the irritation, the sleeplessness, the jaw grinding panic, the alienation from the person I live with who I am supposed to be ENGAGED to yet I treat like total and utter shit, the nightmares, the constant fiending for more, the pains in my stomach, the bad skin, the dental problems. It was all worth it because today I fit into my sisters size 3 jeans. That are TIGHT on her. Just slipped right on. Just like that. Like nothing. My sister, the supermodel, with the black widow legs of death, has been surpassed. Touch this bitch.
Problem is, I don't feel any skinnier, or prettier, or more mature. Somehow I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of getting it right, but I'm never exactly there. There's something always missing. So I'm thinking I'm done trying. There is a store called submerge and when my ex gets his tax refund I'm going to buy three pairs of skinny leg jeans and wear them in rotation. Also I'm going to buy a gram of speed.
I have until november the 17th to make myself utterly sickly skinny and glamerous. NOT BEAUTIFUL. But glamerous. In that effortless, benign, pale, stoic way that everybody is secretly jealous of. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be the jealous twin, but you've always topped me, looks like those days are over. Sorry. I love you, dearly and sincerely, sweetness, dollface. But you've fucked my heart up too badly to the point where I don't feel it anymore. All is fair in love and war right?
I miss charli. But I can't write letters anymore. I don't know whats the matter with me but I can't bring myself to sit down and write a letter. I spent ten dollars on four envelopes so I HAVE to do it now. Their sitting in my hello kitty purse. Glaring at me.
One day I am going to go to one of those Indie festivals and not feel like a total loser. I'm gonna get it right. I have all the time and the neurotic desire in the world.
and this is the ciara video I can't stop watching, for no apparent reason either:
I don't know if I'm getting the protocol right, but I know I will sometime in the near future.
So what this all means is that all the irritation, the sleeplessness, the jaw grinding panic, the alienation from the person I live with who I am supposed to be ENGAGED to yet I treat like total and utter shit, the nightmares, the constant fiending for more, the pains in my stomach, the bad skin, the dental problems. It was all worth it because today I fit into my sisters size 3 jeans. That are TIGHT on her. Just slipped right on. Just like that. Like nothing. My sister, the supermodel, with the black widow legs of death, has been surpassed. Touch this bitch.
Problem is, I don't feel any skinnier, or prettier, or more mature. Somehow I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of getting it right, but I'm never exactly there. There's something always missing. So I'm thinking I'm done trying. There is a store called submerge and when my ex gets his tax refund I'm going to buy three pairs of skinny leg jeans and wear them in rotation. Also I'm going to buy a gram of speed.
I have until november the 17th to make myself utterly sickly skinny and glamerous. NOT BEAUTIFUL. But glamerous. In that effortless, benign, pale, stoic way that everybody is secretly jealous of. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be the jealous twin, but you've always topped me, looks like those days are over. Sorry. I love you, dearly and sincerely, sweetness, dollface. But you've fucked my heart up too badly to the point where I don't feel it anymore. All is fair in love and war right?
I miss charli. But I can't write letters anymore. I don't know whats the matter with me but I can't bring myself to sit down and write a letter. I spent ten dollars on four envelopes so I HAVE to do it now. Their sitting in my hello kitty purse. Glaring at me.
One day I am going to go to one of those Indie festivals and not feel like a total loser. I'm gonna get it right. I have all the time and the neurotic desire in the world.
and this is the ciara video I can't stop watching, for no apparent reason either:
Click to view