upside down head
perceptions
scarletrose2
Fickled
Invisibledon
Invisiblepal
Carlilly
Kieri
breakfust
Sammi1285
luv4you
Lilsnowpixie
londncalling
tulipbaroo
sailorpallas
pink-milk
clueless1285
Wonderwall
Franniboo
Gloamling
xxcobrasxx
trickykid
Sammit1285
soverycherry
kopa
coffeebitch
castleofsand
st0nered
delta88
starsrmylfe
beefspleen
Falla
pickles47
Localaura
interexile
classcouture
Trendyflat
flyanyway
montparnasse
Ship-whore
haircutgirl
chickie-legs
<- Tuesday, Oct. 25, 2005 | 10:45 p.m. ->





I'm a wallower

I had completely forgotten about that particular "haircut." Why did I do that to myself? Why did I read those? Dear God, am I that massochistic? If it weren't raining, I might wonder if tonight weren't the night to call Cor with the fateful box and my small, pink lighter.

(This is not in reference to a real haircut, but rather a symbolic haircut that was better than mine for a year of my life. Ironic, since Anna and I were discussing real-life haircuts just this afternoon.)

Tonight, I am restless. I want something, something very specific but I don't know what that somethiing is. I'm having a cave allegory moment - I've realized that all I'm looking at are shadows, but I can't find the light source.

I miss it, even more than an electric blanket.

When the boy confides in me that he's not over her yet, I wonder if that means he understands why it is I sometimes need so desperately to run over and crawl up into him. My friends are more accomidating than I think they realize.

Oh eight grade - didn't I already do you once?

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