hysterics, doom and uterus-targeted television
from a personal perspective-- my friend's family is at the top of the hit list of one candidate(and yes, i meant that literally, unceremoniously shot in the head literally) and the other candidate would probably consider me the devil (also not a metaphor--mainly, because he doesn't understand them). on a not completely unrelated note (the relation being a general state of OH FUCK)-- the family life that i'd sacrificed friends and dreams for is being ripped to shreds. (do not self validate or judge, else accept that you are in fact, a wrinkly fetid and dismembered nut sack) if my brother didn't love me and if my best friend couldn't drive and didn't happen to be my neighbor, i might be inclined to feel like a prisoner in my own home. --- scraps of happy i'm clinging on to white-knuckled: -i made transcription money and taught myself AP style (and now crochet like a ninja but that's hard to lord over others) -i love he who shall be named heironymus heironymus so much i want to light pink fluffy things on fire. he's really been here for me in a way i couldn't anticipate wanting or needing. also he's come to symbolize the possibility that men aren't always psychotic dickweasels and that in turn has made my lower region sexually viable again and not, you know... a desert. -with the almost biblical advent of masterchef australia jr., i know now that if i'm killed in a hunger revolution (an eventuality that looks more reasonable every minute) i can die happy knowing that tv formats have finally combined my love for babies and food into one ultimate AWWW/YUM fest |