Speaking about my bad temper, we need a solution. And I think I need to correct you, “jealous girl you are.”. I’m not jealous, apparently there are girls I like, girls I’m ok with, and girls I, DISLIKE. If you have to make me give you a name list or something, tell me.
I finished my chem. I’m going to buy after pill tomorrow morning.
You have a nice trip while I stay in White Rock puking and stuff. That’s sarcasm. It supposed to be funny.
Don’t feel bad.
Enjoy your trip. Have fun.
There are badass moments in the world, but that one; THAT, is a Zara badass moment.
She is such a cunt. Maybe because she has one and never used it.
I just wrote a lot but due to the Internet they seem all gone now I’m extremely pissed at shaw
Like what you just said, you were so alone. So was I. Then I fell in love with you, and it hurts like a motherfucker. I never expect this would hurt this much.
Things change, I was too busy being unbearable with you. Haven’t got a chance to see what was going on. Now you are leaving, all I see is a completely strange world.
“Human error”, they say. Tis. Completely human, and error.
I’ve never been so confused in my life. Clearly your confusion is infective.
I don’t know anymore.
24 hours has passed since we broke up. I’m in my blanket panicking about our film project. I do shitty things to people, and don’t even realise they are shitty. Until one day someone finally decides to slap me.
I can’t stop rambling.
Cigarette smoke under glaring light looks like clouds.
Our conversations are always lively after a couple days apart - today was no exception.
I can’t miss Science tomorrow, nor socials. So I’ll ‘skip’ the first two blocks. Homework to do so up at 5. What a bore I am, but I wouldn’t want to ruin my future would I.
I’m also downtown by six tomorrow for volunteering - come along if you’d like, it might be fun, we might get lost.
I have a penis.
At this time you should be floating in blue water, eating, drinking, smoking, listening to music - some therapeutic noise. You’ve told me not to contact you for ‘six hours’, so I’ve decided to contact a future you. A Tumblr you.
I’m sitting on my laptop, having just smoked three Marlboro’s I’m trying to air out my hallway. I’m drinking a beer, have just taken some MDMA. I read twenty pages of Will Self before typing this - Walking to Hollywood - and I’ve got my own noise as well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5eEJLdtAqU.
I’m not sure what happened today, to myself, to you. It was a mess my movements, but I got some nice writing done in that beautiful Moleskin you bought me. I hope you’re okay, having a beautiful and relaxing bath.
I’ve opened a can of sparkling water to calm down. My diaries sit in a pile behind me calling for my words, a log of my health and how I’ve failed it today. I think I’ve got some form of body dysmorphia. I hate my disgusting acne riddled face, but my body is fat pertruding mess and makes we want to start vomiting.
Grape is gone. Books piling up, and I’ve got a newspaper to edit that I’ve been putting off due to sheer force of workload.
I’m also going to try and write here daily, add it to my diary routine. Sorry.