dear what do you think you're supposed to think diary,
every so often the rubber band will snap and all the shit will scatter. time to pick up the mess and straighten up your dress and put all the shit away. clutter and dust don't bother me much and i can live with my shit in storage, but bearing no other weight on my shoulders i can no longer drag behind me the foliage. the bushes you beat around for the years of abuse and really there is no way to say it, if you had no other plans other than to use me then you might as well have beat me with your limbs. tragic- well no- it was fun- and i'd do it again because i am that dumb, but don't think i wouldn't swing back this time. and i'll bet you i'd beat you to the finish line.
