nevermind, i'm spent tonight.
hello,
it's me again.
i'm building a relationship with a tape recorder i found at the thrift store. instead of checking my phone first thing in the morning, i now hit record and document my inane thoughts. that's right, inane. i get all hot and bothered when people tell me that's a typo. it's not, trust me. i filled up an entire cassette so far, and after a quick review of what i had recorded, i realized it began to conclude like a suicide tape would. yeah, those are my morning's first thoughts; how my existence is the bane of my existence. endless, endless existential crises. yeah, that's right, crises. i got em all.
i try my very best not to make sweeping declarations because it always fucks me anyway. can't promise myself shit. can't promise anyone shit. no promises, that's my life's tag line. yeah right. my life's tag line would probably be more along the lines of "don't bother" or "are you fucking kidding me?" that sounds about right.
fun fact: i'm listening to my own voice as i compose this now. i sound darling, just darling. gravelly, semi-dramatic voice with ill-prepared undertones of confessional and sarcastic sternness. i can feel my skin crawling and my ass twitching at the thought of my own thoughts. i hate my thoughts, i don't know why i feel the need to ever document them in all the ways that i do. suppose i find comfort in all the things i hate. like myself. no one comforts me like i comfort me. i'm that idiot whose so stubbornly inconsolable that no other existence could cheer me up but myself. it's unbearable really. if i ever meet someone who has the skill (or luck) to shake my wild mood swings, i'll...well i don't know what i'd do. i really don't. i'm just an altogether unbearable human being, with hopes of still being charming. (stupid, demanding girl).
i'd never before patted myself on the back for not being a comforting person until now. listen, call me up at three in the morning because you need somebody to talk to. i'll drive to you if you need me to. i'm there for you, you fucking idiot. (thinking about opening up a hotline). now tell me all your gripes and sorrows and miseries and agonies. i'll listen till you realize you're not talking to yourself or till your mouth runs dry. that's the point. sometimes, a bitch just gotta run their mouth. it's like vomiting. i'm pro-puke. i most likely won't rub your back or put my hand on your shoulder. i'll find something to laugh of it. but i'll be listening. now if you catch me sweating wasted as fuck at three in the morning, i'm still there for you. it just means i'll be more verbal. i patted myself on the back tonight, because aye, you can talk to me. 1-800-EAT-SHIT
i made a salmon burrito tonight. unbelievable.
