Do I want to work for fascist cultmembers?
Do I want to work for trendy stress heads?
Do I want to work with stoners?
Do I want to work in d'nong?
Do I want to work for the dole?
I just want to get paid and not hate it.

I'm making myself sick with this "no worries" shit. I feel lonelier than I ever have and I'm making such a mess of my life by not doing what I wish I could. Fuck I'm gutless. my guts hurt.

{feeling trapped again%weighing myselfworth^against platonic sweathearts and badbogan cowboy dressupkids#praying for sleep-then remembering I don't believe in anything|needing work%needing sleep^needing to run#needingto stop running from myself|whathave I gottenmyself into%wish I wasn't sogutless%I've relocated myfocus to avoid telling someonesomething and I'm shootingmyself fullo buckshotdoubt and shootingmyself inthefoot intheface inthehead^)

whatchoo want with a woman who wont do what she says...

woke up this morning, didn't know right from wrong
I didn't know I could get any more confused.
I thought I'd sussed it; casual relationship, new friends, drinking a bit, smoking a whole bunch of cigarettes, having company so staying up late wasn't such a problem...then
my long-time-bestest-friend-solid-guy-who-I-go-to-for-advice-and-shit told me he likes me, like not platonically.
I am imploding.
(photo by Julie Harris{largely unrelated})

eleventh hour fun

cigarettes and cups of tea;
do nothing but fuel the ennui...



got last-minute-invited out last night, it already feels like it happened years ago, hung out with an ex-boyfriend and a new friend at a bar where the ex-boyfriend's crush is working.We were comped all manor of intensely flavoured cocktails and danced to some fucking-great music;funk, soul, hiphop, ska... we even skanked to the specials. Highlights included hanging shit on skanky-drunk chicks with their shirts tied up dancing with a herd of sleazy dudes and then posing as cover so my rad new friend could take a covert photo of her. There was a brief scare when my friend lost her badge, but it was recovered,and we ran into a boy affectionately known as Trashbag outside the pizza shop. I missed my tram and had to share a bed with two other people, my ex-boyfriend still snores like a train-wreck and kicks in his sleep, but it's comforting to see how far we've come and share a bed sans weirdness(unless you count bruised shins).You know it's a good night out when it begins spontaneously, involves skanking, skanks, subterfuge, and ends pizza and a big doobie.
I feel like complete shit ferris, but I'll just try to cling to the hazy memory of the fun I had.
fun is fun.