There is a certain hour in the night where everything is indecent and thus, glorious. I don't know anyone who would advocate drunk texting, let alone blogging, but hey, GLORIOUS, I SAY.
It was my friend's 20th birthday a few days ago and he's decided to start his twenties off with a bang....or a bang...wah wah waaaaah. Anyways, needless to say, I will most likely be a loyal patron of Pub Med from the very first day it opens its shady doors.
When did your heart go missing?
I've lived the entirety of my conscious life under a penumbra of guilt and I refuse to entertain that silly notion anymore. I will do what I want. You don't know me. I will live limitless. Watch me soar and crash and burn. Honeybadger don't care. Whee!
I'm not going to humor you anymore. Not unless it suits my flights of fancy. You unearth the ugly inside of me and encourage the darkness I've stowed away. My faith is riddled with apathy, my belief weakened by vice.
I'd rather spend a day worshiping at the altars of consumerism than even an hour pretending to be something I am not.
Divorce is something adults do, so let's take a break instead. I need my space. When I'm distant, what I'm really trying to say is "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT". But politely. So more like, "Shoo, if it's not too much of a bother". Your presence chafes. Your probing questions are poorly masked demands.
My candor is temporary, my feelings inconstant, but one thing will always remain. Don't tell me what to do. Because I will do the opposite just to spite you.
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