by the time the first bombs fell we were already bored

true story: i burned my lip on a burrito and it scabbed over and i picked at it like a compulsive idiot, and it bled, and now i look stupid. plus i keep touching it to see if it still hurts, and it totally does. that’s my life summed up in one story.

i’m having a hard time focusing on one thought or emotion right now. too many.

my mood keeps going up and down. i always picture it like a barn swallow. darting up,  barreling down.

oh and in new news, i’m sad again. or maybe just bored. yeah we’re going with bored.

on the bright side, i’m really good at glossing over unpleantness. like i can pretend like no other that i’m not mad at someone or deeply disappointed in their fundamental human nature. i do it practically every day, with mostly everyone. yeah. good trait.

looking back through history, i would make a really shit 1920’s flapper.. seems really try-hard and tiring. soo much pressure to be fun and novel. i feel like i would have to be really social and outgoing. or edgy, and i’m not really outwardly dynamic like that. i’m more repressfully, yours.

i’m not a character, a caricature. i’m complex, and deep. like wine. i swear tho, wine tastes exactly as i imagine finger nail polish remover does. in fact, i pretend it is when i drink it.

again, with history. i would make a spectacular plague victim, i think. i would die so well. i wonder, is it better to die fighting and feisty, or quietly, dignified, stoic? i just don’t know what is cool anymore. uncertain times..

i really am bored. and twitchy. i almost feel like going outside. pfft.




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