Sunday, November 4, 2012

Bags of Broken Mugs/Back on dicks

So, yea. Here we are. Mid semester. Having the time of our lives.
Little note: stop reading now.  Nothing good happens.

It's so strange how literally, (I didnt originally want to use the word literally here, even though I love that word! L s and t s abound! [gahhhh, I hate how people write these days, exclamation points mid paragraph, bleary, wide eyed enthusiasm abounding, everyone and their imaginary fucking exclamation point quotas that, actually, do NOT exist. ].  I should write, actually, instead. Maybe even use proper grammar and stuff?) I can't form any cohesive thoughts because I am hungover, but I am going to keep going. Because I need to see what's in my head. 

 I have been accumulating apology texts! They are just stacked up in the ol phone. Sighing at me. Unaware of the fact that apology texts fucking suck, and pale in comparison to the steadfast, tall, gooey benefactor of reconciliation that is a tower of nutella and waffles.  Or orchids and juice.  The point is, I don't care anymore, about anything really. Except for my plan, and my new earrings. And for people like this guy I know, who gives really great compliments.  He is the strange part, because last Monday I decided I wanted to make out with him, despite the fact he works at bw cafe (in the kitchen) and then, it totally happened. He just came to me. Zero effort.  This is why I am so lazy, people just me give me things, like money and booze, accolades and friendship.  Jobs. What have I ever done for myself? Certainly not my taxes this year.

*if you are waiting for a climatic point of this post, esoteric revelation, or exciting recap of the past few months, I have to apologize but it isn't coming.  What is coming is several thousand more words of listless, monotone commentary.

So there's that.