Listen up kiddos, this here is a disembogue of pointless words (which is a fancy series of words for word vomit. exquisite.)
I’ve said this before, I think, but things shouldn’t be this hard— and no, I’m not talking about myself. We’re kids—teenagers–if the TV shows are to be believed, our lives are supposed to be shallow and superficial and fun with the most troubling thing to ever happen to be accidentally repeating the same outfit twice in two weeks…Or, according to the old books like the ones written by Enid Blyton, our lives should be about lettuce patch slugs-sabotage and lacrosse and judging people by their neck-washing habits (I love Blyton, but it’s been a while since I read Mallory Towers or Naughtiest Girl or the St Claire Twins or any of her other series, so pardon the vague references which you might/might not get depending on how Blyton-rich your childhood was) Or at least, finding middle-ground, things should at the very least be slightly easy and normal and not half as messed up.
why am I writing this? Because it’s my man-cave dammit and I can vent with frustratingly, seemingly attention-seeking vague angst if I want to!
Also how many of you guys fasting out there?