Clubby is tired. After driving 314 miles and walking around Carowinds for most of the day (a thunderstorm from out of nowhere cut the day short), I'm pooped. I'm also tired of this place and the situation I'm in. It isn't bad. I'm just done with it. I'm a creature of habit, I like routine, my comfort zone and this place is not it. I want my house. My room. My bed. My sweatshirts. A toilet with a cover. The ability to come and go as I please. Not to pay for things. Hang out with my best friend. Watch cable. Really random petty things.
I can't see my phone screen. FOO. And this comes after I drove my roommate around a bunch yesterday so she could find a Sprint store. If I could wait a week until I'm home to deal with it, I would, but that's not going to work out.
I just squashed a bug on my neck. Ew.
This tan is terribad.
I've had a bitching headache all day. Poof poof BEGONE.
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Sunday:
I'm still tired as fuck.
The heat is fucking ridiculous. I'm having a hard time remembering how I survived an amusement park for 6 hours yesterday. Oh, ya, I wasn't wearing sleeves or jeans.
You know you're up too early when you have to wait for Best Buy to open.
Beaver + Sunshine + Oregon = JTW. Goddamnit. I need a rebound like WHOASON.
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Monday:
OHJAMESFRANCOYOUSEXYSONOFABITCH<3
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Tuesday:
I LOVE THIS POEM. I need to write more. NEED. NEED. NEED.
This Close
In the room where we lie,
light stains the drawn shades yellow.
We sweat and pull at each other, climb
with our fingers the slippery ladders of rib.
Wherever our bodies touch, the flesh
comes alive. Head and need, like invisible
animals, gnaw at my breast, the soft
insides of your thighs. What I want
I simply reach out and take, no delicacy now,
the dark human bread I eat handful
by greedy handful. Eyes, fingers, mouths,
sweet leeches of desire. Crazy woman,
her brain full of bees, see how her palms curl
into fists and beat the pillow senseless.
And when my body finally gives in to it
then pulls itself away, salt-laced
and arched with its final ache, I am
so grateful I would give you anything, anything.
If I loved you, being this close would kill me.
by: Dorianne Laux
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Wednesday:
I have really good friend moments and then I have really bad friend moments. White Lightning calls me crying because he and his girl broke up. I stutter through some "That sucks" and "I'm sorry" until the awkwardness is over. I made him a slide show to make him feel better. It worked. They were back together less than a week later. WTF. This was a few months ago. Now they've broken up again. I found out on facebook and my first thought was: Oh please don't call me! Tragical I know. Then he updates his status to say that he's deserves better than her. I wonder if he'll be singing that tune if they get back together again. I've known the kid a year and I think he's gone through at least 3 girlfriends since then. I think he's been single for all of a week and that is being incredibly generous. Foo. I am honestly relationship challenged because shit like that makes no sense to me. NONE.
I ventured on Main Quad today (to pick up something from Dick's office for my job). I think it is crazy that I've been here 2 months and have only been on campus a handful of times (EC doesn't count and neither does working for Gatorade). Living/working in the Dirty â being on campus. That being said, I'm glad to be going home in TWO DAYS. Then I can chill for 3 weeks before Senior year gets started.
With PMs down (HOLYFUCKINGSHITTHATSUCKS), I think I'll work on
Boots.
I hate rando MTers. :/
Dear roommate,
Is there any particular reason why you use the coffee table as the trash can? Last night you finished a cereal bar and asked me to put the wrapper on the table. Understandable since we were watching a movie. IT IS STILL THERE. And just moments ago, you finished some kind of tapioca pudding or something and put the empty container on the table. WHY? I realize that the trashcan is at least 5 more steps away, but come the fuck on. JUST THROW YOUR OWN SHIT AWAY. Are you saving that stuff for a rainy day or something? Gurl stawp.