that sucks vicky. and somehow i am so wrapped up in myself that what do i do? i write about myself.
i spend my time chasing boys. boys i don't want to replace boys i think i want to fill some void that i don't know why it exists or if it really exists. what the fuck. something like that. because somehow, after a financially and careerly successful day, i find myself at home balling: throwing myself down on my stupid little mattress pad of a bed crying my brains out, wrecked with bitter disappointment and ugly guilt.
fuck. how do i manage to pull this off? to bring myself into such a loathsome place for no reason? what am i really after with all this shit?
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