Colossus, girls who are a foot wide, my tap-water mouth.
I had an interesting afternoon. Perhaps you will bear with me as I try to figure out what the fuck.
Today was a lonely, cloudy day. I revisited an art installation with my Polaroid cameral. Which Robb gave me. Goddamnit.
The only person there was the artist. I had nowhere else to go so I chilled. For a few hours. Gave him one of the Polaroids, the best one. Afterwards we walked to Blackbird and he ate and bought me two beers. The waitress who is a foot wide was there. Then I walked to my studio. Then I read in my car. Then my dad came and picked me up because driving myself was a terrible idea.
This doesn't sound too interesting, I guess.
In between taking pictures and drinking with this complete stranger, my mouth would NOT SHUT UP.
I often have this problem, the problem of not being able to shut up.
And of course I'm saying ridiculous things, things like "I am awesome" in the same sentence with "I have horrible self esteem." And even though it occurs to me that why does a stranger need to KNOW this shit about me, I still can't shut the fuck up. It goes on and on; "I'm going to be homeless," I say. "My first boyfriend went to school in Michigan," I say. "You spend four and a half years trying to get used to the idea that someone will be there forever and then they aren't," I say.
In short, my shit is not quite as together as I thought.
Still pretty together, though, even though the installation artist from this afternoon will probably never believe it.
It's either a gooey solid or a really viscous liquid.
On the verge of congealing, so that's good, right?
Haha. If one can't laugh at one's self, right?
I AM WATCHING SEBASTIAN COLE. And drinking club soda. Boo is sleeping. Therefore everything is fine.
Will someone please say something so it is apparent that the world is still going on?
Today was a lonely, cloudy day. I revisited an art installation with my Polaroid cameral. Which Robb gave me. Goddamnit.
The only person there was the artist. I had nowhere else to go so I chilled. For a few hours. Gave him one of the Polaroids, the best one. Afterwards we walked to Blackbird and he ate and bought me two beers. The waitress who is a foot wide was there. Then I walked to my studio. Then I read in my car. Then my dad came and picked me up because driving myself was a terrible idea.
This doesn't sound too interesting, I guess.
In between taking pictures and drinking with this complete stranger, my mouth would NOT SHUT UP.
I often have this problem, the problem of not being able to shut up.
And of course I'm saying ridiculous things, things like "I am awesome" in the same sentence with "I have horrible self esteem." And even though it occurs to me that why does a stranger need to KNOW this shit about me, I still can't shut the fuck up. It goes on and on; "I'm going to be homeless," I say. "My first boyfriend went to school in Michigan," I say. "You spend four and a half years trying to get used to the idea that someone will be there forever and then they aren't," I say.
In short, my shit is not quite as together as I thought.
Still pretty together, though, even though the installation artist from this afternoon will probably never believe it.
It's either a gooey solid or a really viscous liquid.
On the verge of congealing, so that's good, right?
Haha. If one can't laugh at one's self, right?
I AM WATCHING SEBASTIAN COLE. And drinking club soda. Boo is sleeping. Therefore everything is fine.
Will someone please say something so it is apparent that the world is still going on?