Its been as of late that i find myself constantly stranded in foot-in-mouth situations or anywhere-but-here incidents where i'd sooner have the ground swallow me whole or the grim reaper full-on consume me than have to deal with it. If conversation isn't about tampons or liking someone more it contains enough oxymorons to let me suffocate in my own confusion/reluctancy or about what to do with a future i'm less sure about than i am what its like to pee standing up.
Confusing? I whole-heartedly concur.
Although it's shameful to admit i've missed Hollyoaks for the third time this week and feel like i'm missing out. I've got tired-eyes syndrome 24/7 and would rather spend my evening reading in the bath and doing a wasjig than permitting to an active socialite existance.
'The Unfortunate Lover' by Andrew Marvell had me questioning any famous relationships in history that have been a success. All i could come up with was Cleopatra's affair with the notorious Mark Antony and Queen Victoria who's short period of wedded bliss resulted in early-death and a miserable monarch. Something about us all being born and dying alone. I think i was just cynically (and hyperthetically) sick.
This is Hell tomorrow... sweeeeeeet.
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