I think I stopped writing because I started talking so damn much. And in the last couple of weeks (or so), I haven't talked quite as much, and just look how many of these I've done.
Before I made loads of friends all at once and turned my life around, I only had one or two friends at a time. Mostly one, really, or none. And we never had all that much to say to each other. I remember when I first got a phone, and my friend just got a phone too, and her phone number was made up of the same numbers as my phone number, and so we called each other all the time and sometimes for no more than two and a half minutes just to say, "Hello, what are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Me too, I'm bored."
"Me too."
"Okay."
"Bye."
Bye.
I loved to play that game, where I'd sit with my brothers and imagine what I would save out of a burning house, and my answer was so simple: the current novel I was reading and my walkman/discman. Now I can't actually ask myself that anymore because, what would I save?
My laptop. My tablet. My phone. My kindle (even though, really, I hardly need it). Good, clean underwear. Maybe tweezers. Omg my wig. And CHARGERS. Actually, how much is the house burning, and can I pack a bag, please? And on my way out I need enough time to snapchat the fire, then take a picture, then take a proper short clip for Instagram that's longer than 10 seconds, then find the right emoji to describe the feelings I'm experiencing, and oh, look, she died taking a selfie. RIP.
I always had a lot to say, but not a lot of people to say it to.
And now that I have bought asoebi for the wedding of almost twenty "close, personal, friends" who I do love, my creativity is leaking and maybe I actually need the isolation.
Before I made loads of friends all at once and turned my life around, I only had one or two friends at a time. Mostly one, really, or none. And we never had all that much to say to each other. I remember when I first got a phone, and my friend just got a phone too, and her phone number was made up of the same numbers as my phone number, and so we called each other all the time and sometimes for no more than two and a half minutes just to say, "Hello, what are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Me too, I'm bored."
"Me too."
"Okay."
"Bye."
Bye.
I loved to play that game, where I'd sit with my brothers and imagine what I would save out of a burning house, and my answer was so simple: the current novel I was reading and my walkman/discman. Now I can't actually ask myself that anymore because, what would I save?
My laptop. My tablet. My phone. My kindle (even though, really, I hardly need it). Good, clean underwear. Maybe tweezers. Omg my wig. And CHARGERS. Actually, how much is the house burning, and can I pack a bag, please? And on my way out I need enough time to snapchat the fire, then take a picture, then take a proper short clip for Instagram that's longer than 10 seconds, then find the right emoji to describe the feelings I'm experiencing, and oh, look, she died taking a selfie. RIP.
I always had a lot to say, but not a lot of people to say it to.
And now that I have bought asoebi for the wedding of almost twenty "close, personal, friends" who I do love, my creativity is leaking and maybe I actually need the isolation.
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