I sulk but survive
Whenever I wax nostalgic for Syracuse, SLAP ME. I came home to horrendous domestic strife and decided to take a late-night stroll, which was pleasant aside from the TEN MILLION MOTHS which attacked me and the guys from "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle" who rode past me in a blue jeep and yelled "Cocksucker! Get some real pants!" How DARE you question the validity of my makeshift clam-diggers?! The nerve.
I super want my computer back so that I can write. something. even though just the other day I said to someone, "I don't even feel like writing; I just want to, like, do drugs."
courtney and andy, sittin' in a tree.
I figured that between the ages of 18 and 22 I'd "fall in love" and then suffer a "broken heart." It didn't happen, or if it did, I didn't (and still don't) acknowledge it. Actually, no, I'd probably know. And I'm not lamenting this lack of lament, as, you know, I'm not really a fan of feeling like shit. Still, though. I feel like I'm not a member of a club or something? Whatever.
I super want my computer back so that I can write. something. even though just the other day I said to someone, "I don't even feel like writing; I just want to, like, do drugs."
courtney and andy, sittin' in a tree.
I figured that between the ages of 18 and 22 I'd "fall in love" and then suffer a "broken heart." It didn't happen, or if it did, I didn't (and still don't) acknowledge it. Actually, no, I'd probably know. And I'm not lamenting this lack of lament, as, you know, I'm not really a fan of feeling like shit. Still, though. I feel like I'm not a member of a club or something? Whatever.