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Description
I like to pretend that if I never slept, I'd have time for a whole bunch of ridiculous stuff.
I don't really know what kind of stuff, but I think of different stuff every night.
I decided, recently, that I really like to play pretend. You know, that whole 'nothing is real' shit, because lets face it, The Beatles were onto something. You know. NOTHING is real. Who's to say I'm not dreaming right now? Maybe you are?
Maybe when you die, you'll wake up, and none of this will have been real.
I won't have been real.
And the best part is you won't even remember me. I'd be a distant memory, triggered only when you see a knife falling or a car crash or somebody diving into the ocean.
I like to pretend that my name would be something interesting and different. Like Alaska, or Pandora, or Shane, or Sketch.
Am I still awake? I like watching television shows online. I like to watch two people connect, because it makes me feel like I still have the ability to connect.
With anyone.

Have you ever really intensly wondered if the love of your life is dead?
Maybe she died in a car accident. Cancer. Drastic fall. Maybe he killed himself because he thought he wouldn't ever find you. Maybe that's why there's this weird, horrible, aching loneliness within you and No, you don't get it. You don't know why you feel like part of you is dead. You don't know why you're tired of being a person. But I do.
Because being a person is just too complicated these days.
And fuck Neil Postman.

You know, I tried to write a letter to my ex today. I tried to tell her that I don't love her anymore, but then I realized I was trying way too hard to sound like I was in a movie, so I threw it away. I don't like playing pretend during the day.
Things get way too real when you have the letter in your hands.
Things get way too real when you're thinking about dying.
Things get way too real when you try to kiss a girl, and she lets you, and you realize this isn't even what you wanted, and Yes, you fucked up, you stupid idiot.
What I mean by all this is that I'm not you're fucking toy. You don't get to decide when to play with me. 'Who is she talking to? Does she mean me?' No. Fuck off. I don't mean just anyone, I mean everyone.
I am not a fucking doll. Lets get one thing straight, you are not allowed to throw me around. as you please. I am not your toy, I am not your pet. You don't get to decide to love me for one day, then ignore me the next, then not speak to me for a week and four days and expect me to fuck you on friday night just because you have nothing better to do,
and fuck Nancy Milord, and these stupid english bitches who think they know it all.
Am I sleeping yet?
For fucks sake, you don't get to use me when you feel like it. For all you know, maybe I have a girlfriend.
For all you know, I'm not even real.

Description
I like to pretend that if I never slept, I'd have time for a whole bunch of ridiculous stuff.
I don't really know what kind of stuff, but I think of different stuff every night.
I decided, recently, that I really like to play pretend. You know, that whole 'nothing is real' shit, because lets face it, The Beatles were onto something. You know. NOTHING is real. Who's to say I'm not dreaming right now? Maybe you are?
Maybe when you die, you'll wake up, and none of this will have been real.
I won't have been real.
And the best part is you won't even remember me. I'd be a distant memory, triggered only when you see a knife falling or a car crash or somebody diving into the ocean.
I like to pretend that my name would be something interesting and different. Like Alaska, or Pandora, or Shane, or Sketch.
Am I still awake? I like watching television shows online. I like to watch two people connect, because it makes me feel like I still have the ability to connect.
With anyone.

Have you ever really intensly wondered if the love of your life is dead?
Maybe she died in a car accident. Cancer. Drastic fall. Maybe he killed himself because he thought he wouldn't ever find you. Maybe that's why there's this weird, horrible, aching loneliness within you and No, you don't get it. You don't know why you feel like part of you is dead. You don't know why you're tired of being a person. But I do.
Because being a person is just too complicated these days.
And fuck Neil Postman.

You know, I tried to write a letter to my ex today. I tried to tell her that I don't love her anymore, but then I realized I was trying way too hard to sound like I was in a movie, so I threw it away. I don't like playing pretend during the day.
Things get way too real when you have the letter in your hands.
Things get way too real when you're thinking about dying.
Things get way too real when you try to kiss a girl, and she lets you, and you realize this isn't even what you wanted, and Yes, you fucked up, you stupid idiot.
What I mean by all this is that I'm not you're fucking toy. You don't get to decide when to play with me. 'Who is she talking to? Does she mean me?' No. Fuck off. I don't mean just anyone, I mean everyone.
I am not a fucking doll. Lets get one thing straight, you are not allowed to throw me around. as you please. I am not your toy, I am not your pet. You don't get to decide to love me for one day, then ignore me the next, then not speak to me for a week and four days and expect me to fuck you on friday night just because you have nothing better to do,
and fuck Nancy Milord, and these stupid english bitches who think they know it all.
Am I sleeping yet?
For fucks sake, you don't get to use me when you feel like it. For all you know, maybe I have a girlfriend.
For all you know, I'm not even real.