quad crying this super cool new thing. i like to walk across the sundial and pretend like you arent an asshole and i didnt waste my time, lose my friends, and eat up shitty bitter corncrap. i like beer and air conditioning. you like video chat. its quite simple. beautiful but not poetic. i have these dreams of us sitting in rocking chairs on a victorian porch peering into magazines about chickens struggling to make out the small font. our acne is replaced with wrinkles and strands of my white hair twirl in your fingers. my husband laughs and looks at us from the kitchen. i know that im doing the right thing but i dont know how to convince him of that. you look at him and cant convince him either. banal as it is love and hate stem from the same plant i think. and everytime i think of hanging this one picture of us up in my room something like this comes up that makes me bite it up into little pieces and burn it. mature and classy. my flouxetine confessions for the day: its depressing to see kids win shit for excellence
the fucking principles award
