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| I like you an official metric fuckload.
I think you're a body full of soul, and I hope you like me back.
I guess I'm just tired of meeting people
that define themselves by what they don't like.
I just don't like that.
But I do like holding you.
The way your pillow holds your head when you sleep.
The way gay, lesbian, transgender, irish and mexican people like to hold parades.
The way the earth holds the moon,
and the sun holds the earth and how they'll constantly spin around each other forever.
And even though that metaphor doesn't really make sense in regards to this poem,
because it would imply theres 3 of us...
Which would also be AWESOME...
But you get the idea.
In my book you rock, and I like rocks...
What the fuck..?
Anyhow... just because I spent an hour or so writing this down,
doesn't mean you have to like me back,
but damn I would really like that. | | |
| Funny story.
So, I drive Glenn to school in the mornings, as most of you probably already know. And I'm generally late, so I speed through this little suburban neighborhood 25-mile-an-hour zone at 40, at the minimum, because its 7 in the morning and there's literally no one on the roads, and I don't know. I'm late. Also 25 is a stupid limit. I don't do 25. Eff that ess.
So last week I was driving along at 40 and this woman is by the side of the road looking at her car with a man (I would say husband, but is that okay to assume? I think not. Could be her pimp or something.) So anyway, woman. She looks at my car and she starts waving her hands up and down in a "SLOW DOWN" kind of way. I just looked at her like I was stupid, because it was 7 in the morning, and I was barely awake, and cruised by at 40.
Then I forgot about it.
Today when I went down the road at 40, there was one of those "YOUR SPEED IS..." LCD things, glaring at me. Probably a cop will join it sometimes. Lady called the cops on me! (Which I guess rules out the pimp theory, because I don't think prostitutes call the police for traffic violations. No need to call attention to oneself, you know?)
So the moral of the story is, I need a new route to Glenn's house.
| | |
| So everyone getting into college is really getting to me. Last night I had a dream that I got into Harvard, and I was like, "Nooooo I really don't want to go!" And the admissions people got really cross with me, and said that no one had ever rejected a place at Harvard before, so they were going to investigate my application. And they decided I'd lied on my application, and sent me to jail.
And I woke up crying.
Basically... I'm really glad I'm going to Rutgers.
Also! My xanger is really pretty now! | | |
| Does anyone else feel like every time they turn around they've fucked something else up? | | |
| XL in 845218 (11:55:29 PM): dear self,
XL in 845218 (11:55:33 PM): (says you)
XL in 845218 (11:55:37 PM): dear self,
XL in 845218 (11:55:46 PM): today i want to tell you something you may believe or not believe
XL in 845218 (11:55:56 PM): i dont know what to say to you anymore,
XL in 845218 (11:56:00 PM): but theres this guy that i know
XL in 845218 (11:56:17 PM): and i would really like it if he took me somewhere other than the dead end to a witty quip "So leave out the others, baby,
Say I’m the only one,
Cut out the uniforms
And settle with the sun,
Hey I want you to know,
‘Cause I wanna know,
And it’s a strange condition,
And life in prison,
It’s got me outta my head
And I don’t know what I came for,
I want you to know..." | | |
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