Holy shit. Just had a coughing fit so bad that it's making my throat bleed. Or at least, I taste blood in my mouth. Mom thinks I should page the doc again. I say, it's a stupid cold. I just need to get through it.
Mayor ,'Lies My Parents Told Me'
Spike's Bitches 32: I think I'm sobering up.
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Much ~ma to vw, sj , and Aimée.
I'm sitting in my office crying. You people broke me. I can attribute something from each person's playlist to me, which starts a new mix known as the "OMG, I'm Overidentifying Because I Need to Make a Connection With Everyone" mashup.
My tapes are of the Now That's What I Call Craxxy! Vols. 1-899 variety. They are legion, but the one that comes up the most and is the hardest to shut off is "You Are a Fraud and Why on Earth Would Anyone Want to Be Your Friend?" and that's followed closely by the compulsion to make everyone LIKE ME. The opposite is not an option. The weight and attractiveness loop is a close second.
Ever since I was a child, I *knew* I was going to be someone. Enter your classic overachiever, underperfomer coding, and you end up with me. I'm not the someone I thought I was going to be, and I can't make the someone that I am good enough.
{{{Maria}}}
I'm not the someone I thought I was going to be, and I can't make the someone that I am good enough.
This makes my heart ache with recognition and empathy.
{{{{{{{{{{{{Maria}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
I'm not the someone I thought I was going to be, and I can't make the someone that I am good enough.
Oh, honey. Totally what Beej said.
{{{Maria}}}
Also, {{{vw's poor throat}}}.
t feels up Maria
What? We were hugging and stuff...
I'm not the someone I thought I was going to be, and I can't make the someone that I am good enough.
This makes my heart ache with recognition and empathy.
God, yes.
{{{Maria}}}
My tapes say:
I should be nicer, since I'm not really attractive or a genius.
I'm gonna die an old dried up wreck at this keyboard.
If I don't have to find a crate first
Why do I have these interests that underline that I'm an unlovable freak of nature? Why can't I care about normal things?
I'm smart because I'm not pretty.
Thanks everyone. Including you, Trudes. A good grope can often cure what ails you.
I suppose this melancholia is not helped by the weather in DC today (cold, dark and rainy), and listening to David Gray on the iPod. And it's certainly not going to be helped by the FridayAfternoonBeforeAThreeDayWeekend drive on I-270.