Because it cleans.
Just let it flow Me. Lets see how well this goes. This is going to go terribly. Why am I outting this here? Outting? No. P-UTTING. I guess outting would work too? Would it? Like coming out of the closet. But coming out of the drafts. I don’t know.
I really like Regina’s voice. She makes me feel like I should live in old times and read old comic books and ride horses to get places. How weird would that be. If I lived in a generation where everyone knew how to ride horses?
I swear I keep messing up the punctuation on this thing. Question marks after statements. Periods after questions. Capitalization is another thing. I don’t know if Earth is supposed to be capitalized. Am I spelling that correctly?
I feel like when I write I have a different person thinking for me than when I speak. When I talk it’s like the words I have don’t nearly express what I feel and see in my head. Even then, the feelings and visions in my head are pretty indescribable even by thought.
Indescribable, undescribable. Described. Undescribed. Indescribed? Why must you suck English? Answer me that with your many confusing and annoying and redundant words. But I guess it’s nice that we have so many words to describe things.
I hear “You’re so CUTE!” all the time. It really makes me want to just ram my face into a wall of knives. But that would hurt, and I would bleed out and then die ugly. No one likes ugly people. Except for other ugly people.
I wonder if ugly people are destined to marry other ugly people, just because they are typically unattractive and they feel like they can only have other unattractive people. Like midgets and giants and hicks and hick’s cousins. I really hope my child isn’t ugly. I know that that’s a terribly shallow thing to say. But seriously? No parent REALLY wants their kid to be ugly. Sometimes they just are, and you can’t be like “Oh, you’re an ugly kid.” You kind of just have to accept that they’re ugly and move on.
Or maybe they just don’t see it? Maybe once you give birth you love your kid SO much you don’t care how they look, you still love them.
It’s like being in love. It doesn’t matter how much people hate the person you’re in love with. You care so deeply about them that nothing outside of you and them can change your feelings towards them.
I could go for a smoke. I really could. Or a sleep. This writing thing is making me a little sleepy. It doesn’t help that I am typing to Regina and he little peacefully cryptic songs.
I wonder how singers/songwriters who write so crpytically come up with ways to get a message across without directly saying it. What is another word for cryptic? Why can’t I write poems anymore? Why am I lacking so much talent?
But on the plus side, I shot some 3-pointers today. That was nice.
I wish I could write in a more descriptive way. I also wish I didn’t have this massive headache. And I wish that Tylenol didn’t cause your liver to be prone to Cancer and then you die. Augh.
I feel like I have more to write, but I really just want to get this over with.
You know what would piss me off? No, you don’t. Well maybe. A lot of things would piss me off. My cat dying, if it snowed tomorrow, THIS HEADACHE. But the thing I was thinking about was if I accidentally clicked off of this thing, pressed backspace and lost all of these thoughts. That hurts a lot.
It’s like writing down all of your thoughts because you have to and then losing them. Redundant.
Why am I so boring to talk to? And why am I in love with a 25 year old welsh guy I met on the web?
Because, my dears. I am a fucking idiot.
MUCH LOVE.
Enjoy.
Blah blah blah.
I hate my thoughts.
