watching someone slowly ascend (descend?) into adolescence is vaguely fascinating, like a movie you've seen before, but the details are fuzzy. you remember how it ends and you specifically recall watching the credits. in fact, the credits stand out the most; they're the only reason you're sure you've seen this one. i wonder if it would be worth taking notes.
she didn't think it was terrible when i said that my spirit animal was a snail. everyone else frowned and thought i was being self-deprecating, but she let me just be a snail. they're very tiny. she understood.
my hair is long. it's longer than it's been in years and i look like a new human child. newer than i looked in new york.
long hair changes my face. i appear more serious, pedestrian. i look and feel bland. also i feel, possibly in a paranoid way, that i look like i give good blowjobs. i think this has something to do with the liz phair song and my hairstyle's proximity to hers.
i am not making an appointment to have it cut.
i may enjoy the inaccuracy of my presentation at this time.
i want to go to the gym. i want to say 'apartment' instead of 'house.' i want my dad to touch my arm. i want the doors to stop slamming. i want this to be tofu. i want to hold a puppy. i want to read this book and at least seven others off the top of my head. i want to fall into the picture you sent me.