strange steps take us back.

so, this weekend was fun. although i did mix hayfever medication with alcohol on friday night, and then some mcdonalds, which ended unpleasantly. last night we watched p.h.fat and i think they're cool, the way they dance like chickens, pull up their shoulders like little boys and play with the mic cords. and look you in the eye and smile; they're cool. and, of course, how they rap about dinosour blood, bugs and lions, and making love to superpowers. and vulgar things, too.

i like bathroom wall inscriptions, i like reading everything, and why is it so fucking tempting to write on it too? i want to write things, sentimental things. all flowery and romantic.

oh my god, everything hurts. my wrists, my elbows, my shoulders, my neck, my tongue. it feels like all blood circulation has been cut off, i can't even eat a teeny sample of milktart (which, by the way, was absolutely amazing) without my tongue hurting like shit. i can't move my arm without my elbows hurting even more like shit. wtf?

okay, over this post.

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