Last night, I dreamed I was happy. I was engaged to a sexy French photographer named Pierre who liked to take nude portraits of me. We spent hours gazing into each others' eyes. We argued about who was more wonderful and he would read poetry to me while I took long lavender-scented bubble baths.
I woke up and for like 4 seconds, I was both awake AND happy. Then I remembered my life sucks and I started to cry hysterically. I think I'm improving. Ever since that Creepjerkpig broke my heart, I have woken up every morning, already sobbing. But today, the crying did not start until I was awake for 4 seconds. So, at this rate, I figure I might be only 50% miserable by the time I am in my 90s.
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