Shhhhhhh, no one wants to hear about your stupid shit
True, true, true.
Ok, so, what shall I write about if not for my swollen, overly rotten feelings?
Shall I talk about how I can barely afford groceries anymore or how my rent is so ridiculous that I might have to actually move out of Ontario? Nothing new there; boring rant I have already dished about ad nauseam.
If aliens came down and zapped me into their ship, I would be elated and wouldn't bat an eyelash for one, and two, the only stipulation would be that my dog would be allowed to come too. (not that I believe there are aliens waiting to beam us up)
I love the smell of campfires.
They say: "Write for yourself." Well, what if you don't like yourself.
I take my coffee with two creams—hold the sugar.
The only romantic gesture that truly matters:They share music you with.