Just another classic example of me not knowing what the hell I am
writing about. The only thing is, I wrote this the day after
the consumerist-centric, unimaginative, ambigious, and highly
shallow, superficial, commercially twisted misinterpretation of
romance (duh!) and 'oh-that-was-so-like-five-minutes-ago' smellmyassinlentine
day. I think I am just bored and picking shooting victims at random.
I like doing that.
marie was delivered a bouquet
sandra had dinner date
and nicole too.
I fell asleep reading
on the floor. the radio is
still on. I think it was Chopin.
maybe some punk bands.
it was a book on how to
be nice to oneself.
I got up and dropped myself on the bed.
11 p.m.
it had not been raining for
three days.
they said that the roads will
be closed next week.
these girls.
they always have things to do
people to meet
dates
boyfriends
shopping
facials
gossips
shoes
periods
mascara
pimples
MNG
5 shots of vodka.
that's enough.
for today.
for me.
no use pretending
in the world of
pretenders
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