Wordlessly fingering my eyelashes (encrusted with gunk I have now taken a shocking likening to that will hopefully fade by tomorrow morning, fingers crossed) I read Allie’s post.
By my current standards.
(Psssssst! Allie! We are writing a book, remember?)
Anyways, onwards with my story. I’m the kind of person who rides every day differently: no routine, just new obsessions, new ideas. Work and school barely keep up. I tried being like that once, I’m still organized, but I just don’t highlight anything any longer.
I can’t tell the web something completely boring, something completely as insane as I thinking that they’d care t know what I’d had for breakfast.
Or that I am a little bit off my usual rocker today.
So I’ll look at anything I type and think that’s a complete amount of gush tomorrow. But I won’t lie, and pretend I’m all fine.
Because, then, really, what’s the point in all this?
Moving on from the heartfelt philosophical confessions, I’ve re-discovered my urban Gothic wardrobe. But because I’m the kind of person who won’t be let herself be depressed for longer than a day, I’ll be back to sundresses tomorrow.
It’s kind of awkward typing all about me, here, so I guess I’ll sign off now and come back with better news for y’all.