I’m having a moment. You know what I’m talking about. The kind where you feel gross and ugly and want to go home and crawl under the covers and watch tv or hide. I hate being a girl sometimes and then I hate when I do things that I KNOW are going to make me feel like crap later on. I say, “you’re gonna regret this…” and guess what? I do.
Ever. Damn. Time.
It’s a rare occasion that I don’t regret shit. So… how come I think things mean something? I mean, can’t shit just… be? Not everything means something, and yet… it does. EVERYTHING means something. I believe God has a purpose for everything. Even the smallest thing. Right?
Because if it doesn’t then I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’m losing my mind. Seriously. I’m fucking losing my mind. I miss people who don’t miss me. I miss people who don’t exist anymore. I miss things that mean nothing and things that mean everything and I miss miss miss miss miss when things weren’t so fucking complicated.
I also miss my cat.
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