Which is worse?

Doing this is not fun for me. I take your pain and reflect it back onto me, and then include my own on top of that.
You’re right. I do look fine without makeup.
The dead don’t wear makeup anyway.

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If I Am Ever A Parent…

I know that I’ll be a horrible mom. I won’t want to change diapers. Bodily fluids make me gag. I will not celebrate birthdays, because I see no point in doing so. You’re another year older, woohoo. I haven’t accidentally dropped you on your head yet, hooray! And why give a child money when they lose teeth? Would you give your kid $50 if he lost an arm? Christmas has lost its meaning entirely, so no gift exchange at Christmastime. And Easter? Give me a break. Rabbits do not lay eggs, and they won’t lay eggs for my children. How did that even become a tradition, to hide candy from¬†children? I don’t want to lie to my kids, and get their hopes up for some kind of magic to happen. Or when they turn 18, when it all just disappears and they’re not allowed to be a kid again, I don’t want them to sigh and suck it up and move on. I want them to realize what these holidays are for. To spend time with people you love and cherish the moments you have together. To smile and wonder how you got so lucky to have a family who truly cares for you. I don’t want to disappoint my kids.

The Never-Ending Battle

I have always struggled with whether or not I want to have kids when I grow up. I’ve never really enjoyed kids and can’t stop thinking of all the sacrifices I’d be making. But when I get to tuck my sister into bed at night or drive her to gymnastics or just spend an afternoon reading with her, I realize that that sacrifice is worth it in the end. I want to be to my kids what my mom was to me. Gentle, kind, caring, loving, ever-affectionate, fun. I think I’d really enjoy it, and be good at it. It obviously won’t happen until later on down the road, but I’ve made up my mind, for the most part, that I’m okay with eventually having kids.

Wow!

Hey there. I’m actually getting some views! Spiffy.
I’m getting new glasses tomorrow. I was thinking about getting some like this:
Vintage-Ray-Ban-Clubmaster-Ant-Tortoise-Sunglasses
Or maybe like these:
0330_u

I don’t really wear my glasses often, but maybe I would if I had some cool ones.

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Life as we’ve created it to be, is a bit pointless, no? We’ve created social rules that dictate our whole lives. Don’t be late, don’t get too close to people you don’t know, don’t use your roommate’s stuff. But really, it’s all just time and space. People like to think that they own it or hold some claim on space. Or that time must be measured down to the second, God forbid we waste any of it. I’d love to just spend a whole day doing nothing but sitting outside and just watching everyone pass by and scurry on towards the next steps of their pathetic little li(v)es. And I’d really love to just talk about reallly profound things to a stranger. And I’d love to be hugged by someone I don’t know. And I wish I could just… know some people. Have you ever seen someone that you just want to know? You don’t know why, or what about them, but you want to know them, and you can picture being their best friend, and their favorite color, and their favorite bands, and what they look like when they cry. And you want to be enough for them. You want them to like you, to think you’repeculiar, but in a curious way, a way that makes them want to know you more, too. Just that desperate need to feel needed. And wanted. And I’d love to find outt hat someone feels like that about me. That they want to know me. You know, sometimes I don’t want to know me. I’d be okay just… being someone else. At least for a few years. Just to see what life is like through someone else’s body. Feel their pains, remember their past, fight through their struggles. I mean, maybe you wouldn’t actively participate, either. Naybe you could just sit in someone’s mind like in a movie theater and watch everything they’re doing. Smell the smells, feel the emotions. It’d be like a crazy 4D movie. Only I don’t think I’d want to still have my own consciousness. I’d like to just be totally taken over by that person. All their desires are mine, like watching a really touching movie. You wantwhat the main characters want so badly it hurts. But even watching those movies, are you wanting that for yourself or the character? It wouldn’t make sense to wish for something to happen to an imaginary person, so of course you somehow wish it for yourself. Books can be like that too. Why do we always want to escape this consciousness? Novels are a way of exiting your body and dreaming with your eyes open. Movies provide the same thing. An alternate reality. A story about totally different, unrelated, fictional people. I guess drugs do that too. Alcohol makes you forget everything you care about. That’s interesting. I suppose I can’t blame my father for wanting to forget his reality. Mine is pretty hard to live with too, sometimes. I would love to just… stay out all night looking at the moon. But I have these silly social rules that were set up for me, and I have homework, and I have to go to class tomorrow. It’s pretty twisted, isn’t it? I’m pretty disgusted at the way I live. If I want food, it’s there, but most times I just don’t eat. How wrong is that? I have all the food anyone could ever wish for, right in front of me, and still I refuse it. Absolutely horrifying. My technological devices capture my attention for hours at a time. When is the last time you spent 2 and a half hours on a social media site? Sickening. I’m utterly disappointed with myself, I really am. Also, I have a ton of clothes. I mean, a buttload. Yet I constantly buy more and more until I just can’t fit it all in my closet anymore, then I donate the clothes I don’t use, and do the same process over again. Absolutely mad.¬†I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep tonight. I have way too much buzzing around in my head. I kind of just need to be alone. I want to be totally disconnected, unplug everything. It’ll tantalize me, but I will not give in. Nothing interesting will happen anyways, I promise. It’s really just not worth it. All this fuss about what other people are doing? Just pointless. Who actually cares? Mindless zombies, that’s who. I am one of them, completely and totally. I subscribe to what everyone else is doing, that’s about it. Literally no one has anything good to say. Wow. That’s so liberating. Why do I live for my computer and for Facebook and Twitter?