I feel that if I began to write, I would never be able to stop. I feel that, if I began to cry, I would never be able to stop. I feel that, if I began to eat, I would never be able to stop. Inertia is comforting. Motivation levels are dismal. Momentum, memento, memento mori.
I’m so tired of being lied to and used. I don’t see what I’m doing wrong, but apparently there is something about me that makes me so goddamn unattractive to everyone. Maybe I just have a sign that says “walk all over me, it’s okay I’m nothing” on my forehead that I can’t see.
Ignoring the fact that Valentine’s Day even exists is much harder than I always think it will be. As always, I’m wishing broken condoms on all of the happy couples.
En route to ski in the French Alps for the next week. Life is wonderful.
you’re so beautiful
and you’re so lovely, thank you
apparently my favourite blogs right now are..
There are times when I honestly believe that I’m living in a world separate from other people. I feel like I’m stuck in a different time, with a different mind.
Someone save me from my aches, pains, and recent loss of cat.
I very well could, but I won’t because I look plainer than Jane Eyre and uglier than the ugly duckling.
It depresses me that a Danish newspaper described Lana Del Rey as being (translated) “in between Lolita and Lynch”.
a saturday night in means playing piano and watching judy garland movies.