Delicious to the maximum.

I wanna be the object of your affection
Give me all your time, touch, money & attention
Pick me up after school, you can be my baby
Maybe we could go somewhere, get a little crazy

Actually thought to myself before I

fell asleep last night:"I better look kawaii tomorrow

or I would just kill myself at work."

*

Still stuck on 'Accident Prone', 

still kinda stuck on you,

or the idea of you.

I've managed to be pretty chill about it though,

so there's that to be thankful about.

*

Cross-posted to my tumblr:

Sometimes you do things once, twice, three times.
I guess it’s alright coming full circle, back to something you had
vehemently sworn never to visit again,
if it’s on your own termsand you go in with your eyes fucking wide.

I do have to say that repeat visits to what was once
pretty much hallowed ground, can leave you feeling
flat and empty, especially if they (yes, we’re talking about a person here)
took multiple swings at you and you just took them
and waited for more.
When none were forthcoming, you got up and went home
and cried, but the next day you were
back out there, and it wasn’t defiance,
it was a plea. A sad fucking cry for help
and attention and love, and maybe another beating,
as long as it meant some sort of contact.
Being ignored and treated as less than
worthy of notice is the worst.

So, it’s suddenly months, years later and
you are fucking sure that there’s nothing left,
you meet them and talk for five hours straight,
and can laugh with them, but also cringe obviously when
they say something slightly embarrassing (you used to let it slide).
What now? You don’t want them, they don’t want you,
not in the same way at least.
Or do you?
It’s different, and the same. It’s muted, it’s watered down,
it’s slightly sad. It doesn’t feel plasticky though,
and you realize that you could get used to this again.

Your heart has saved a little compartment for this,
labelled “just in case v.2” and you don’t know if you
should shoot yourself or just go with it.
Unfortunately, this minute box is dwarfed by a whole barrage of
other larger boxes and is lost baggage.
It’s a brief cry when then the word (love)
is uttered. It’s eyes closed, lips parted.
It’s good night spoken five times.

“I like him though.” You find yourself actually
saying this to him, and wanting to talk about
this other kid, that you like.
Cause you’re friends.
Or, whatever. I don’t know anything.

We’ve reached the melancholy part of the summer.

You act like a slut, but you're really a freezer.

Vacationer's Gone vibes for the first part of the photos,

Misfits' Walk Among Us for the babydoll goth photos <3

(I flatter myself).

EVASIVE FACEBOOKING IS WEIRD.

Trying to write anything other my own personal, coded thoughts

is fucking tiring and tedious.

A month til I'm back in NE and I don't know if that's a long

time or just enough time or too little.

In between-ness strikes again.

Cuddles, please.

If you wanna scream, scream with me.

My aesthetic as of now.
*
I need to stop pinning so much on pixelated screens
and pining for boys who spend their nights wasted.
But I mean, it was being wasted that led me to meet him
and it is him being wasted that leads him to skype with me at 5am (his time)
and he's just so damn sweet you know?
(also, I get to see that he didn't take anyone else home)

What do I do, guys?
If this one takes the fucking greyhound for me,
then we'll know for sure.

"I'm... I gotta sleep now."
"Yeah, you definitely do."
"I'm going to sleep on this side...and this other side, that's yours okay?"
"Okay, you save that spot for me."

Kill me now.

I ain't no goddamn son of a bitch.

 Look at these classy peeps.

Have two minute forms of income,

and there's so much shit to do!!
Ukuleles to buy, alcohol to acquire,

cabs to take, tattoos to get, phones to replace,

food to eat, life to fucking live,

boys to visit in Montreal upon return to Boston.

Have been partying like an infidel

and all I can say is this should have started earlier.

Tell me I'm your national anthem.

It's fucking weird coming back to this blog and seeing the last thing I posted was
PHOTOS OF MY FACE in March. 

I don't even know if anyone visits this page anymore, and frankly I never wrote for anyone but myself, so I think I'm going to do a long update here, for the purpose of having a record. Expect a smattering (or a... ton) of photos to accompany the words.

It is the first of July 2012.

I am on summer break. I have finished my freshman year at Emerson College.

I am doing a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Writing, Literature & Publishing.

It was a hard year, but things turned out okay in the end.

I have some fucking awesome friends at school and
we're living together in a suite next year!

I play Quidditch for the Boylston Berserkers, heck yesss.

I broke up with Mark Pichay.

It was shit. I handled it bad.

I went to a lot of concerts. Some alone, some with friends.

I had/have stupid crushes on boys. I hope something will work out.

I spent the first half of summer with Eva & Sylvia, and briefly (3 days!) with Su Ting
in various places - Duxbury, New York City, New Jersey, Montreal.
We had some crazy adventures.
People are nuts in NYC.

Sylvia is going off to Melbourne for school in 10-ish days.
This fucking sucks balls, but I am also excited for her. 

My hair has been slightly blue. I've shaved off one side of it.
Now it's long.

What else did I miss out?

Boston is pretty amazing. It's fucking cold sometimes,

and gross and dreary, and fun and awesome,

and old and weird, and cool. Cool cool cool.