…was supposed to be a raw and straightforward account of my life; a warm, shallow pool where I dip my toes into its waters for a while to recharge and go about my day. It was supposed to be about appreciating literature, mastering art through word-weaving and touching people without flesh, without skin. Minds were to melt into a cauldron heated by fires of passion, bubbling to the brim with ideas of joy and hope. Heart strings interlocked; the finished product a silk so strong, so magnificent in strength to cloak the children born of mother imagination.
Past entries read like a fourteen year old girl getting brain damage from too much black eyeliner seeping into her poor, underdeveloped soul.
I reckon I will always have two forces tearing me apart. One who wants to read Voltaire, and talk about the vastness of the universe. The other who enjoys picking her boogers and leveling up pokemon.
I feel it vital to remind my friends that I do have a soft and sophisticated side to me, waiting for the day Audrey Hepburn is resurrected so that I may present myself to her as a most favourite and loyal minion.
That being said, I am now going to fuck some zombies (metaphorically) in the ass. AWWW YEAHHHHH!!!!!
TL;DR: Sophisticated
she does not often visit
yet she remains, Tits.
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.Margaret Atwood
This woman makes me weep sweet tears.
I feel like crying. I’m letting everyone, including myself, down. I feel old. And brittle. As if the tiniest push will reverberate through my bones, shattering them into crystalline fragments. But I know that my body isn’t beautiful enough to break like ice or diamonds. it will simply decay and rot, like a piece of meat displayed well past its ‘best before’ sticker.
History keeps repeating itself. It’s like my life is built on a möbius strip, and there is only failure paved ahead of me. I need to see a psychiatrist. I’m going insane.
plethoradichotomy asked: HAY PHOBES HAYYYYYYY :D:D:D
i'm addicted to tinywings!
I think when I answered, I hit the “cancel” button because it’s on the right where the “submit” button usually is.
DAMN YOU PAVLOVIAN CONDITIONINGGGGGG!!!!!!!!
anyways, TINYWINGS IS SO GREAT. I LOVE SEEING THE LITTLE GUY SUCCEED :D
Dear joy: your tombstone will read, “suffocated by oprah’s dirty vagina.”
I don’t know man, I might survive that, probably enough room in there for my house.
I dunno Joy, stale vagina air? I don’t think it’s good for the skin.
He doesn’t want a Works cited list of our research. So now I’m intellectually stealing. My school is encouraging this theft. Holyshitimgoingtoputaglockinmymouth.
…Is a motherfucking placemat. I’m getting a 90 in the course…. But at what price?
“please hand in your placemats today, class. Phoebe, stop bring your brain out in class, I won’t remind you again. Either put it away, or stop bringing it into the class environment. It’s distracting.”
FUUUUUUUUUUUUU-
Dear joy: your tombstone will read, “suffocated by oprah’s dirty vagina.”
I’ll try to make this post as brief as a post done by me can be, but I’m a big fan of recounting my days on tumblr because these posts make for some humourous reading for future Phoebe. And with that, here are the highlights of my friday:
Ms. Salem: “Class, positive attracts positive. And this isn’t just me coming up with my own crazy, whacked out theories, it’s science!”
I think my head still hurts from smacking a V8 bottle on it repeatedly. I had to survive in that class without her getting suspicious, and pretending I wasn’t getting enough fruits and veggies seemed like the way to go.
Will someone (preferably a Mormon) please explain to this woman how fucking magnets work?! I’m gonna desert eagle my class (or even school) one day, I swear to bacon.
Mr.Dullfarts currently has a copy of my essay on him, and it is scared, trembling at the thought of him marking it. My poor, precious essay. It started out a beautiful peacock- okay, maybe I’m boasting a bit much here. The essay certainly isn’t my best work- It started out as a beautiful budgie, and he basically handed me a pair of tweezers and told me to pluck away. My budgie is now bald. And looks like a naked mole rat (those things aren’t cute, don’t try to convince me otherwise.)
If I have to compromise my integrity as a writer because of him, I’ll show up to class drunk because I may as well be belligerent in his class from this point on. It’ll liven up the atmosphere in class.
We did a round of trivia in history class in preparation for the test and I fear I may have let my true colours show and geeked out whilst playing the game. I think I might be “that girl” in class now. Oh boy.
My weekend was fairly dull I must admit. Not having a job tends to do that to people I guess. I did get interviewed for a job yesterday and the manager did offer me the position, but I’m not letting myself get excited until that bastard remembers to call me back.
…Please call me back. I’m desperate for cash and I might have to start whoring out my body if I don’t get a job soon. Or play life like a character in Grand Theft Auto. Fuck yea, samurai sword limbs off bitches!
Seriously. Please call me back.
We were talking about arranged marriages today in class. I mean, would it really be so bad? Aside from the fact that the guy my parents choose will automatically be Asian and be without a personality, would it really be so horrible? I wouldn’t be forever alone on valentine’s day anymore, and I wouldn’t have to worry about putting myself out there ever again. I could eat like Liz Lemon and my husband would be contractually obligated to love me anyway. Fuck it, let’s get arranged! Oh baby, how sexy an idea.
…I’m gonna own a museum of stuffed cats. And eat food that I knit out of spaghetti. and put doilies on my friends’ heads when they come over to visit.
I think I did fairly well on my history test today. Canada, you and I are really bonding on another level. Even though you treated my Asians like shit for a while.
Now I’m at the library again, starving, and waiting for my night school class to begin. I just wanna go cuddle up at home with my stuffed animals. They love me most because they aren’t alive and I imagine them loving me.
TL;DR - Fucking magnets, how do they work? I de-feathered a budgie, I’m gonna start a life of crime because it’s a lucrative business, and I’m gonna get arranged to be married so I’m don’t stuff dead cats and put doilies on things.
