skip to main |
skip to sidebar
It's not about how much romance novels I read or how many sappy love movies I watch in a year. It's really not about how I've treated or how I treat a current or past boyfriend. It's not about how I treat guys in general at all. It's not about how many dresses or skirts I own and it's not about how much make up I put on once in awhile or how I get my hair done. It's not about how many times I check a guy out or whether I love Britney and Madonna. It's not about whether I sit like a girl or put my legs up on the chair. It's not about how often I cry at movies or how often I throw something against the wall till it gets completely destroyed. It's not about me making a face at the idea of going on a date compared to getting sloshed at a beerfest or at some gig. It's not about how good I am at Guitar Hero or Rock Band compared to some Dance Dance Revolution game. It's not about how I'd rather go drinking with my friends and laugh at us doing shit than go clubbing and get it grinding by some random hot dude. It's not about how many times I say dude compared to yay! It's not about how I sometimes watch wrestling just to see the guy getting bashed up real bad or how many times I watch some show about pregnant teen moms. And it's definitely not about how many things I have in common with guys. It's not about how much I think Pearl Jam beats Nickleback any day, any time. Really. It's not about whether I can leave the house without a bag or not and it's not about how often I wear shoes compared to girly, strappy sandals or flats or whatever. It's not about whether I head bang to Black Sabbath (circa Ozzy) or bobbing my head demurely to Kylie Minogue. It's not about what's my favorite color or how many times I swear in a second. It's not about my constant tantrums or whether I paint my nails or not. It's not about whether I'm fascinated about gory details or squeal when I hear it. It's not about whether I watch soccer or watch netball. It's not about how many times I smile compared to the countless time I've made a funny face in a picture. It's not about me being a girl, it's about me being me. Either you hate me, or you somehow (if ever possible) find it in you to like me for who I am.
Now playing: Black Sabbath - War Pigs
via FoxyTunes
At 2210 hours last night, the Starbucks I've been lazily working at for exactly 1 year and 10 days closed down for good. Instead of mourning or feeling extremely upset that it's going to be torn down in 3 days and never to be re-erected in any way ever again, I just feel really exhausted and relieved. I've grown too accustomed to change and if something doesn't change for a long time, I'll start experiencing my version of withdrawal symptoms. Excessive whining, extreme insomnia or lack thereof, uncountable mood swings, which I will blame on my female nature and vivid brain activity. The vivid and painfully out-of-my-control brain activity is exhausting and I can just lay on my couch appearing to stone for 12 hours straight and sleep for 12 hours after that and no one will know why because I look as if I'm just lazing around. All that brain activity, usually amounts to randomly generated hopes and dreams and plans for the future. OK, just kidding, it's just useless daydream shit that most of the time, amounts to nothing. Probably just amounts to me writing all that crap here. Anyway, I've been wasting whats left of my 18 year old days at Damian's a lot more than usual, lately, because I'm so interested in what these retards have to say about my mood swings and excessive whining. Yes, until something huge happens like someone in my family dies or gets sick or gets pregnant or something I will continue to exert and take out my withdrawal symptoms on the internet and all the innocent (or not) people around me. I will probably smoke myself till I get cancer just so there's some form of change and I won't be so restless all the time. OK, no, just kidding, I'm just being rash haha, OK, what the fuck.Now playing: Eminem - My Name Is
via FoxyTunes
Love
This,
Period.
Sad to learn I've missed out.
Listening:
Black Sabbath-Paranoid
I have such a nice family. They didn't go ballistic or tell me how I could possibly die within a few years when they found out I had to take preventative medication for Tuberculosis. Some kind of wonderful, really. I found out about a day ago that my grandmother knew I was smoking the whole time. I thought if she ever found out, she'd die from a heart attack but I guess she's actually been really nice about it by not bringing it up at all. Still, my heart broke when I told her the doctor thinks I might have TB and she just couldn't hide her fear and all that worry building up on her face. But she's been cool about it since, amazingly enough. And then, there's Damian. He found out via my livejournal post and called me up only to yell at me and explain to me in utmost detail, how stupid I was for letting myself keep mum and watch him throw my meds into a drain near my house while singing along to my generation, on repeat at 5 in the morning. Because I don't feel the least bit remorseful for what I let him do, to something that could possibly turn my piss orange, yellow my skin and the whites of my eyes and possibly damage my liver, just to name a few side effects. That boy should just be like my grams and calm the fuck down, I'm not going die ok, deal. I feel so vulnerable now; anyone can easily attack me and I'll be stuck in this demoralizing dimension of my current life for weeks. Fucking loco, sé.
