How excited am I about tomorrow?! It's SUNDAY!!!! Yesssssssss, and I have absolutely NOTHING planned for the entire friggin' day. Excitement level: ecstatic, Evangelical snake dancing hill billy code red. I can sleep, I can read a book, I can fart around in pajamas all day, eat icecream out of the plastic tub, and scratch my butt with the spoon.

The five stipulations that X out a potential second date (according to my friend T.)

#2: if he's a bad kisser.

Happy birthday blog! You turned a year old back in September, but I am oblivious as a well, whatever reference you have regarding being oblivious. I am a terrible parent, but then again I never thought that this blog would last as long as it has. It started out as a side project, something I did once in awhile and now I have more or less forgotten my main blog in favor of this one. Or maybe I am just high a lot more than I thought I would be. Or am. Whatever. I feel like this is also a case study; I am writing on this blog only when I am high and I would love to compare that to sober writing and see what the main difference is.

Christmas wishlist: a set of kick ass computer speakers. Fucking yes, please, thank you.

I need more spontaneous dancing in my life. Spasms of muscles twitching, limbs flailing, out of control swinging legs, eyes rolled back, whites showing.

Super Duper Anxiety Time

It's like a show that has a roulette and I turn the wheel (much like in that show with Pat Sajack), and the needle lands on ANXIETY IN ALL ITS FORMS and then I proceed to freak out and get a full blown anxiety attack.

Quiero llorar. Que se me salgan las lagrimas, que se entrecrucen con mi sonrisa, lagrimas saladas en mis labios.

I don't want to. I don't want to believe in destiny, I don't want to believe everything is pre-ordained.

P.s. I fucking hate my haircut, detest it. This has only made me want to chop my hair short short, pixie short. I really am not happy with it.

I am so high I can't even write or organize my thoughts. How fantastic is that?! To die by your side, well the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

I want someone to be passionate about and who is equally as passionate about me. Why is it that in most relationships there is one person always giving more than the other one? One always loves more than the other, I feel. Do people ever fall in love around the same time? I yearn for that single moment where I see clearly that if I breathe one more breath, laugh one more time, think of this one person, I am going to fall, and fall hard. The *click* moment.

The premise: a romantic comedy drama of this couple who have been dating a year at least. She's open with him, loves him, slaves for him and contorts herself into impossible positions for him. He definitely likes her, he might even live with her but he's not in love with her. He doesn't cheat on her and he likes her company, but he's not about to sing up to a balcony, he's not willing to romanticize the situation. She keeps hoping he will one day just see what he has before him. But she stays with him because she does in fact love him. Something happens (maybe a guy steps in? she gets pregnant?) a series of unfortunate events happen and then he finally has his *click* moment wherein he realizes that he loves her.

Love. I am starting to not like that word. I am getting jaded, my skin developing a crystalline sheen.

I am so high I keep shaking my head a bit hoping to clear my head. Not working.