April 2010
3 posts
You’re not happy, you’re on prozac. Your BMW doesn’t mean shit. Neither does your job. Or your mistress. Or your favorite football team.
The drugs and the money wear off and everyone will probably leave you.
What must it be like to be like everyone else? Or how I imagine them to be. How should I fucking know. Can people really be serious about the way they pass through this...
Everyone is good at something.
I’m good at:
eating
keeping my shit on lockdown
arguing
confrontation
choosing my words thoughtfully
going with my first impressions(people, music, movies, restaurants, etc etc, you can’t fool me)
having personal style
staying young
staying dissatisfied
holding my ground once I make my mind up about almost anything
making people laugh at my own frantic...
