There's something here, something that needs to be said, needs to be let go, but it's all wrapped up in there. All twisted and digging into the coils of my brain. It's one of those days where the backspace key is the one i hit the most because my fingers can't correctly keep up with the trip my brain is taking. Things have been shady, but it's only because of the light that there are ever shadows.

"If you wanna be their friend, be honest and un-merciful"

"Rock and roll can save the world, the chicks are great. I sound like a dick!"

Okay, so that last one didn't have a thing to do with a thing, but it's something I wanted to write. Because it's awesome. I have no moods these days. At the beginning of this page, I'm all emo and dark and then, two sentences ago, things are awesome. What the eff. Who the eff is this kid, this girl, this silly thing? Hahahaha
I don't know.
You don't know.
You don't know who you are!
That reminds me of a mewithoutyou song, but I can't remember the lyrics. I sound like a crazy person. This happens sometimes when i need to write. i just write the things that come up, they dont make sense, maybe, later, if i think any of it was any good i'll go back and dig some stuff out and add capitals (capitols?) {I think it's with an a} and puncutation. Do you see what happened there? i got all caught up in that shiz i was writing that i lost all sense of grammar. It comes and goes. like that. see? Did it again. hahahahahahaaaaa

I.am.a.crazy.person
i/am/a/writer

There's this sense of restlessness in the air for me right now. i want to travel, i want to eat, i want to write. but i dont want to work for any of that to happen. i guessi grew up dreaming that if i wanted something badly enough it would just sort of happen for/to me. i think it stems from the following incident:

I'm 6 or so years old and i'm at this christmas crafts fair (my mahmaw {mom} used to make stuff to sell and people ate that shit up!) and i really really really want this hand painted wooden cut out of a rocking horse. some old lady was selling them. i wanted it soooo bad. you have no idea. we mature adults never want things the way kids do. sure, we want things in a different, more hormonal way, but it's not stronger. not stronger, just deeper. grosser. (more gross?)

anyhow, i wanted that cheap little ornament, but my mom wouldn't give me the cash and my dad said i could have money, but only for a hotdog. actually, i think that's a lie. i don't remember my dad being there that day. i think he was at work. maybe. or he was sleeping. the night shift, you know? SO. I'm looking at this rocking horse with my pockets turned out and i'm conciously letting this old bird know i want this thing. she notices me looking, picking it up, turning it about, making it gallop down the display. and i remember, i swear this is true, i remember thinking, if i look cute enough, she'll give me this horse.

and she did.

she gave me that fucking horse because i was 'such a sweet, cute little girl'

sucker.

but really, that old lady ruined my work ethic.