“closed for funeral.” that is the sign above the laptop. on the desk lined with wayfarers, a pair of bvlgaris [not mine], a pair of versaces [given to me by a customer with apparently too much money on her hands], etc.
———-
i moved. i earn my keep by going behind turning off lights and not doing dishes.
———-
“you will always be the template which i measure others by.” i locked it in my phone. for no other reason but i think you are mental… ly… or inebriated.
———-
i have had three days off and have accomplished not a single thing but smoking a pack a day.. besides that the closest i have come to cleaning my room is almost throwing an old shirt stolen from an over priced thrift store years ago, but i saw where i ironed on letters across the shoulder blades: “jezabelly” and how am i to part with that? worthless. among other things.
———-
when i went out the other night the ex fiancee’s wife stated that i had hot cleavage. she was drunk out of her mind.
———-
yes its random. no i dont have anything better to go on about. my birthday is 3 days from now. i still hate washing my hair. i will still not do anything worth while with my degree because i love working retail in the mall selling overpriced sunglasses. i will still take my sweet time reading books because once the words run out it will take too long to find another to take its place. i will still paint my toe nails black and continue to bite my fingernails. i will still get fucked up in order to fuck. to buy vintage jewelry but never wear it. to feel like crying but never follow through like everything else.
———-
oh woe is me.