rolling down a hill in a barrel with the inside covered in razor-wire |
okay... if you have decided to browse my portfolio you would have seen the new thingie in there. my very first novella. this has to be the longest thing ive ever written in consecutively thats a form of a fictional story, (my life being the second longest, then some erotic fantasies i have locked away in a cold dark cellar where rabid mongooses guard them with their lives). but, in writing the story, ive incurred on a problem. its called writers block. it fucking sucks. i was thinking about cruisifying myself in order to get a better idea of what being betrayed by your own thoughts would feel like, then i realized several times ive had discussions about killing myself and or other people (i.e. which is why my mother packs a pistol beside her, in the underwear drawer of her dresser). taking the time, ive carefully pulled a plot out of my ass, strategically mind you, but ive failed to come up with words that could describe such, and its the closing of the day. so penis me and penis you. Jeff thinks german is french. bad jeff, bad! sick'em austin. And Jessi loves sex. Took band pictures, i was naughty, needless to say. If you realize, by now, ive said close to nothing for a diary of the last two days. im a sad individual. now i know what its like to be an adult. well, my mother did tell me i could use her money and go to lunch (i went to a decently expensive italian restaraunt *drools* it was good, cost my mom more than half of what she gave me, the other part going towards the cleaning). havent worked in days. getting paid by the hour. the fun. ill do something random. ~`*|/(:))|/*`~ there...kill me |