Hey don;t get offended. Yeah.
It's insane. No really. Stop it, life! Stop being so goddamn amazing! I might just have a heart attack and die from having too much fucking fun living right now. Seriously. An overdose of fun.
If you don't know me or you're just stupid, then this information is of use to you: I was being sarcastic.
Because life is as far away from fun as Lindsey Lohan is from her PhD in Nuclear Science, or, ever getting sober. Very, very far.
Friends are pissed at me, school is progressively getting harder to understand (big fucking surprise, Cece), the weather sucks ass, I have no money (literally zero), and I am so unbelievably content with my misery none of you people can convince me that a happy life is worth the determination and responsibility it requires.
I am small girl who once spent her entire childhood fantasizing her life as a princess, and is now stranded with no kingdom, no prince, and no horse to go anywhere else but the wasteland she resides in. And she's of course furious about her misfortune.
I will just sit and cry in my tower of wretchedness and make everybody else's life just a miserable and unhealthy as mine, until I have no friends or family left to care about me. I will dig my grave and grudgenly lie in it until I starve to death or die of a broken heart. So fucking there.
No no no, of couse I wont do that, and it doesn't sound pleasing to me in the least. That is just the epitome of what I might become. Of what I have sworn to myself I'll never become.
And I do have a prince, a knight in plaid-and-denim armor if you will, who does not ride a giant stead but a steel blue jeep Liberty. With no great helmet to protect his quaff of hair, but aviators instead to shield his huge, gorgeous blue eyes. Yes, yes, a wonderful creature indeed. Too bad for his princely ego I wont let him rescue any damsels, this anarchic princess of choas and passion, in particular. Not like I need to be saved from anything. If I am miserable it is because I choose to be, not because I can't do anything about it. That's right, I recognize my responsibility to happiness and I renounce it!
Ah, everthing is fantasy and rhyme, isnt it, Cece? There is no groomed reality to which you must commit and wed your mind. There is no such thing as growing up, or responsibilities or time or self-control or anything at all, is there?
No, there is only imagination and your mind. That is all you are. You are a little girl, an invisible friend to some real person. You are an Alice, you are a character in a play, a drawing in a sketch-book (preferably a sketch that Emily drew). Your body does not exist in time or space, here or there. You are just a figmant of your own imagination. You are, you are not.
Had enough of this fool's rhyme? I have. Pay the wretch and watch her leave, she's mucking up the logic of reality. She doesn't even make enough sense to feed her own insatiable wonder.
I feel out of myself.
-C
If you don't know me or you're just stupid, then this information is of use to you: I was being sarcastic.
Because life is as far away from fun as Lindsey Lohan is from her PhD in Nuclear Science, or, ever getting sober. Very, very far.
Friends are pissed at me, school is progressively getting harder to understand (big fucking surprise, Cece), the weather sucks ass, I have no money (literally zero), and I am so unbelievably content with my misery none of you people can convince me that a happy life is worth the determination and responsibility it requires.
I am small girl who once spent her entire childhood fantasizing her life as a princess, and is now stranded with no kingdom, no prince, and no horse to go anywhere else but the wasteland she resides in. And she's of course furious about her misfortune.
I will just sit and cry in my tower of wretchedness and make everybody else's life just a miserable and unhealthy as mine, until I have no friends or family left to care about me. I will dig my grave and grudgenly lie in it until I starve to death or die of a broken heart. So fucking there.
No no no, of couse I wont do that, and it doesn't sound pleasing to me in the least. That is just the epitome of what I might become. Of what I have sworn to myself I'll never become.
And I do have a prince, a knight in plaid-and-denim armor if you will, who does not ride a giant stead but a steel blue jeep Liberty. With no great helmet to protect his quaff of hair, but aviators instead to shield his huge, gorgeous blue eyes. Yes, yes, a wonderful creature indeed. Too bad for his princely ego I wont let him rescue any damsels, this anarchic princess of choas and passion, in particular. Not like I need to be saved from anything. If I am miserable it is because I choose to be, not because I can't do anything about it. That's right, I recognize my responsibility to happiness and I renounce it!
Ah, everthing is fantasy and rhyme, isnt it, Cece? There is no groomed reality to which you must commit and wed your mind. There is no such thing as growing up, or responsibilities or time or self-control or anything at all, is there?
No, there is only imagination and your mind. That is all you are. You are a little girl, an invisible friend to some real person. You are an Alice, you are a character in a play, a drawing in a sketch-book (preferably a sketch that Emily drew). Your body does not exist in time or space, here or there. You are just a figmant of your own imagination. You are, you are not.
Had enough of this fool's rhyme? I have. Pay the wretch and watch her leave, she's mucking up the logic of reality. She doesn't even make enough sense to feed her own insatiable wonder.
I feel out of myself.
-C