it's a mixture of being controlled by rats and defeated by friends; people have more control over me than I'd like to think; though I pretty much rock at everything, I act full of myself, which means I act like I'm full of shit.

and goodnite
)SunnyDee(

girl likes guy. guy really likes girl. guy asks girl out in french. everything goes great.

two months later.
guy and girl hook up chick (girl's friend) and dude (guy's friend). guy gets phone taken away from talking to girl too damn much.

girl and chick have their doubts about dude's existance and guy's motive but girl/guy and chick/dude still date, respectively.

girl thinks guy is trying to be coy and get info and is pretending to be this random dude she's never heard of so guy can get secrets from girl's friend.

now, guy talks to chick more than girl and girl hears everything about her own boyfriend from chick. this pisses girl off.

dude told chick he was using his cell, but it was guy's phone number. girl finds out that dude can use the phone to call chick, but guy can't call girl.

and girl still thinks dude is really guy.

fuckyou.
)SunnyDee(

my friends know I'm a dick;

so why such a rift between who I am and who I portray myself to be?

curse their cursory expectations
)SunnyDee(

I think my brain is a computer, fueled by tiny rats with pink hats who forget they are rats, and forget to keep running when they are on the wheel. they usually fall when they’re at the apex of the darn thing, which makes my head hurt. one of them is afraid of the monsters under my bed, the others fear nothing, which makes me reallly confused. to compromise, i don’t stand next to beds without shoes on. one does fear ladders, though... that makes life quite interesting.

then imagine you're sitting poolside in 1989 and you see him rolletskating your way. he's wearing dayglo pink hot pants and a white mesh half shirt. he has sunblock on his nose and aviators. his headband holds his sweaty hair out of his eyes. he spots you and starts slowly skating backwards around the pool. as he passes, he lingers long enough for you to hear "girls just wanna have fun" blasting from his oversized headphones and he turns towards you giving your the shooter mcgavin fingerpoints.

-tin soldier empire

it made my day.
)SunnyDee(

doesn't it kind of feel like all the butterflies in your stomach have gone metally retarded and are just hitting everything in there?

worring is like a rocking chair; it gives you something to do, but you don't get anywhere.
)SunnyDee(

Hells Yeah.

Everytime I post a blog, it's always exreamly sad.

Maybe I'm really depressing and cynical, so I need to stop being such a wimp.

Seriously, I'm going to stop giving a fuck and get back to my punk roots.

Sounds good to me.
)SunnyDee(

But it's just what I do.

I overreact the the expected. If I didn't tell you that straight up when I met you, you must have not been listening.

I can't even concentrate on the two pages of homework I have to do. I'm just sitting here, wishing someone would fucking notice what the hell is happening to me, but at the same time, wishing everyone would just forget about me and let me do what the fuck I want.

Wouldn't that be the easy way out? I've always made life harder for myself because I don't want to make it harder for anyone else. The only reason I play the victim is because I don't want anyone else to get hurt like I do.