rinse, repeat, don't listen to advice, rinse, repea...

Now I can't even read my own diary on my own browser. IE, *sigh*, it must be...

I haven't written... or done much of anything. I am slipping. I am dreadfully slipping. My exhaustion has turned into unaccomplishment, sloth and oversleeping. Tonight, there is a choice, to go out and drink, and socialize and stroke the very possiblity that a man likes me (but not enough to shake apart his already-set-girlfriend-at-home life) (but not enough to tell me) and pat myself on my sexual muscle for a hour or so while my mouth waters and I squirm to be "cool" I drink away the lonliness and pass out frustrated. Sound familiar? Sorry, I didn't mean to get a mediocrey-poetic on your ass, I just wanted to condense the whole "drink when you really feel like fucking" situation. Umm. OR I could stay in my room, cozy, candles burning, start work on some of the beads I just bought and sleep myself into dreamland, wake to some confusing dream and never want to get up again. And here I sit, with a 10 minute window in which to decide.

I'll go out. Out of compulsion. Out of the fact that I feel like shit. Out of the fact that Ben called me tonight with the specific purpose to ask me what I was doing tonight... I don't know that I have the energy for this.

I think I am getting some kind of wierd effects from PMS. I get really shaky, tired/sleeping all the time, and just don't feel like socializing. And it happens like a week before my period. I know, I have to deal with it because it's another icky girl thing. Poo

I feel better now. How strange is that. I know once I wash my face and smear the makeup back on it and toussle my hair, I will be in a better mood and want to fuck all night. (that was a joke people)

Saw Michelle today, we spent the evening hanging out. SO much fun. We made a mess of our dessert by giving it fangs, french fry nose and cherry stem antlers and ended the night talking about sex and vibrators. OOOOooo girl talk!!!

SO, now I have to go get the boy, my nails are long and red and I am ready... and I know he wants me.

"And it's all wrong. That's all that's true. And this time what's worse, dear god, he's 31. And so it's wrong before we start, so why should I rush prove that I can break my heart, all over? Oh, yes, I've been here before."