me, me, me
I'm hardly made of sugar and spice more like shit twice as nice like sweat and hot butterscotch syrup...haha, steel horse riding cowgirl with shiny gold stirrups...
theres something therapeutic about painting my nails and toenails every friday afternoon...(you ever look at a word you know you've used and read a million times before, only it just doesn't look right anymore? thats how I presently feel about "therapeutic")...I think I like the ritualistic aspect of getting ready to go out friday night. as much as I bitch about how fake it all is, I dig prettying up for a night out on occassion.
although I could probably sleep for 24 hours straight if I didn't have to pee every six hours or I didn't have shit to do or any phone calls to screen, there's something to be said about feeling my body come awake in the morning. like I'm waking up with the birds and flowers and the spirits. I shouldn't sleep in so much; it makes me feel as if I've missed half of the sunlight hours...granted the most I see of the sun on a regular basis is through window blinds in my apartment-slash-office but its nice to know its there should I want to take a walk in it or lay at its mercy so my pale ass yella legs can come back to life...
I don't have shit else to say right now that isn't about me...and sometimes I feel thats the most mundane subject of all...