bedtime stories with monsters in the closets.
tonight my thoughts are weird because I cleaned my room. i don’t do this. my room looks like some old lady from a crypt lives in it. my pictures are always falling on my head in my sleep, it hurts sometimes but i don’t mind enough to fix them. my mirror is off the wall because i made a boyfriend mad and he slammed my door like a wild boar (now i can only see my legs before i go out). it’s okay, i have seen myself for 24 years. i talked to a friend about burnt grilled cheese for 36 comments on the book. i kicked everything under my bed and i put some clean clothes in a ball in a drawer. i shared a picture of a boy fishing at theodore roosevelt island to the pinstagram masses and had to tell them the truth that i didn’t know him, i just sneakily took his picture. then i sent a couple of my guy friends pictures of my most favorite shoes, the leopard loafer, the black and blue ballet flat and the studded black jeffrey campbell. they said thank you, i think they are annoyed but they are still texting and calling so it’s okay. i kept looking at the dirty projectors tickets online, i am excited for their album to come out tomorrow. also a tad scared because what if it is not all i dreamed it would be. music is my second favorite thing besides leather. other than that i need some advil because air conditioning is painful, it hurts my skin.