Thursday, February 28, 2013

The skin I live in. In. Skin. The skin.

As a veteran acne-ridden non-teen, there's a lot I've had to get used to, that other people don't even seem to think about.

My best friend sleeps in her bra sometimes.
Now... I can't think of a single reason why that'd be comfortable. But the point is...
I can't do it at all. My back would freak out.

I can't sleep in make-up either.
I can't sleep on any of my cheeks, nor can I lean on them...
I can't touch my face. I can't scratch my face.
I can't go too long without showering.
I can't wear make-up indoors for more than... four hours. Six, if I'm outside.

I don't do sleep-overs.
I don't do "surprise visits" (= don't expect me to open the door if I don't know you're coming)

My life is.... rules.

So fuck you if you sleep with make-up on.

...I want your life.

Saturday, January 19, 2013 a man's best friend

I've always wondered what tweeters -- ACTIVE tweeters -- are like in person. How does a full conversation play out with these people? And do they ever make eye contact with the person they're (supposedly) talking to?

The most probable answer is:
All active social media-ists are near non-existent in reality.
You choose your own platform in life, I suppose.


My platform has become this very couch I'm sitting on.

                    It's blue.

             It's medium-sized.

2% cotton and whatnot, 98% love.

You could say that this couch represents the way I choose to live life now. It's comfortable and doesn't judge me for who I am, or what I happen to not be able to do.
It also allows me to watch A LOT of TV, in full pyjama gear.
To slouch down and write diary updates about LIFELIFE and everything I want to stop thinking about.
To relax. To eat. To give and receive hugs.

Final Wisdom:

Since stress and sadness and war and hate and jealousy and angst and delayed homework and societal pressure and general OCD is near inevitable; get a nice couch.

Your couch loves you.

Too bad it's not ACTUALLY my couch.

I need to make videos.