Sometimes I just wait for people to say some weird, stupid shit but it almost never happened. Am I the only one around here that can be irrational, emotional and crazy? I mean, fun? I personally don’t mind any of it. 10 successive text messages and 5 phone calls? You know what. If I could actually drive someone to the point of borderline creepiness like that, I would be quite impressed and happy. I would reply, obviously, though after a while because I enjoy other people’s craziness for me. I’m just not a rude person. I’m a person who makes things happen and that’s what I take pride in. I’m a Cancerian girl. I’m anxious as fuck. Well, I suppose my anxiety is only activated when it comes to someone I really like; otherwise, I’m pretty laid-back, like I can’t be bothered at all. It’s actually true that I can’t be bothered. I’m not bothered by 99% of people I know at the moment. Don’t act surprised. What a hypocrite. You’re no different. You don’t give a shit, do you?
How about us? Are you bothered by me? Would you get your ass up and come to me when I need you? Well, if for some weird reason, you do say yes, then we should actually be having a late night conversation right now because I’m into that kind of thing. It would be great if we had a bottle of wine. Music. What song should I play? I’m kinda into Iggy Azalea at the moment. She’s cool, isn’t she? Blonde that raps. Ghetto voice. I don’t know. Don’t ask me about music. I’m not going to give you an essay on how pop culture is raping our ears because I don’t mind and I don’t care. I just listen to songs that get me.
Why don’t we talk about something really strange? Strange like what happened in the Korean Old Boy. What do you think? Is it disturbing to you? It did give me an uneasy feeling, you know. But it’s fun. Things like that are always fascinating. So fascinating that I felt like something very sick and daunting had crept into me after I finished watching it. I bet it’s the plot. Or the fact that he cuts off his tongue using a scissor? Or because he sleeps with his own daughter and he tries all the way he could to protect her from that truth? You know, he can die for her. It’s unconditional love. I’m so envious. When was the last time I spoke to my dad? Oh, I suddenly miss my mom now.
What’s on my mind at the moment? Something about the brain. My drawings. My life two years later. Money. My own apartment. And money. I would like to make a lot of money. It seems to be the only way I could distract myself from all this. Don’t ask me what “this” is. It’s just something. Things like, a drunk text. I want a drunk text.
I just want to feel. This is not like me at all. I need a muse. Jimmy. Jack. Anthony. They should be here with me. Or Anna. Milana. Oh, let’s not forget about Milan. What would Milan be doing at 3 o’clock in the morning? He must be drinking, singing, or sleeping next to Noel. She would watch him sleep, touching him gently simply to feel his warmth and the smoothness of his skin on the tip of her fingers. She must have missed him a lot but she could not reveal it. She is a stubborn girl. Noel, or Milana. They are both very, very stubborn. And conflicted. So am I. We love each other but we hate ourselves. We thought the world would be much better off without us. But we love each other to bits. This is a fact. Are we not beautiful?
Ordinary beautiful people. Love is supposed to be effortless, right? Why at times does it feel so difficult?
How many times have I daydreamed about having a cat? She would sleep with my unicorn, in my arm, all warm and happy. I would feed her fat. I would give all my love to her. Oh, a cat lady. How pathetic it sounds to you. But you already know that I don’t give a fuck. If being pathetic means being content with what I am and a fluffy cat, then be it. Check with me in a few more years, you will see, how gorgeous everything will be.
There is nothing that could stop me. But me. The real world might shoot me down but I’m not scared. I’m brave like that.
What a pity. At 3 o’clock, I’m being myself while you are away in your sleep. You’re missing out again. Always.
Oh, wait. I’m free writing again. This is so me. My identity. I’m laughing hard.