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I am inhumanly grumpy, but not really grumpy at all. Lest that sound like a whiny, metaphysical quandary, I'm just typing out my thoughts on a random Tuesday evening. Tuesdays are fun and magical and annoying as fuck days for me, particularly because they're a chance for me to experiment with being alone, and not hanging out with people, and I find today all I want to do is sit at a coffee shop and read a book about the 1930s and drink mochas, but I also feel on edge when my cellphone rings, or when i get emails. I think I just needed a break from humanity, but it seems vaguely hypocritical after a whole, "I'm lonely and struggling with feeling loved" thing. I guess I truly am a complex and ridiculous creature, surprise surprise.
I'm going to sit here on this leather couch, with the espresso fueled buzzing of San Diego's minuscule hipster elite chattering all around me. Perhaps I'll listen to some Sufjan and pretend to boast indie cred. Or perhaps I'll just wall myself off further.
Who knows?
Oh my God i turn 23 in a week and haven't even begun to process what this birthday means or is or signifies in any way this year.
And why the hell is it so windy?
I want to run and i'm chunky and coughing and totally over being sick and avoiding doing work and my isn't my shirt exciting.
Peace.
I'm going to sit here on this leather couch, with the espresso fueled buzzing of San Diego's minuscule hipster elite chattering all around me. Perhaps I'll listen to some Sufjan and pretend to boast indie cred. Or perhaps I'll just wall myself off further.
Who knows?
Oh my God i turn 23 in a week and haven't even begun to process what this birthday means or is or signifies in any way this year.
And why the hell is it so windy?
I want to run and i'm chunky and coughing and totally over being sick and avoiding doing work and my isn't my shirt exciting.
Peace.
