I want to write something, but I'm tired and uninspired. Laying on my couch listening to new TR/ST wishing I had never pulled all my hair out 1, or 2, cut it short when it was growing back. I can't stand the feeling of the wirey black hairs digging into the back of my neck. Or what passes for a neck.
I was bitching about being fat to another fat girl at work, and I think she took offense because she said she liked being "fluffy" and walked off.
Well, if I thought I was just "fluffy" and not "dying of heart disease" I might not mind either, but I don't think that's the case.
Today Sis and I went to Evangeline's downtown, and I thought I was going to keel over and expire on the stairs that lead to the chamber of doom or whatever they call the 2nd floor where they keep the goth shit. Of course it wouldn't have been as simple as just croaking, but also taking out my sister and multiple other Evangeline's customers on the way back down the stairs. That's probably "manslaughter." We took the creepy elevator back to the ground.
I love TR/ST so (pictured below). I think I could marry that dude too, and split my time between Canada and Miami with Trevor Something. I mean I would physically crush both of them, but they might be into that? They could write songs about it on their Moogs or Applebooks or whatever the fudge.