Today I came home full of resolutions to reform my sad-ass emo ways. And then I did a search in gmail to find the first time I wrote a person about a book and ended up reading a lot of old communication instead.
I am terrible in the beginnings of friendships. And at the ends.
I come off as such an eager love-starved poseur. It's disgusting. DISGUSTING, I say. I am ashamed to read the things I say. ASHAMED. There aren't enough upper case words to express my disgust.
He did write nice letters, though. I wish he hadn't stopped.
I resolutely refuse to write him. I am keeping the resolutions admirably. It has been...two and a half days! ohmigosh ossum!
I am very proud of myself.
Here is the oddity: I wrote more honestly when I wasn't worrying what he felt about me. Why is irony so ingrained in everything I do?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment