Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Thursday, February 28, 2013
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
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.
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.
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.