Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Finding My Personal Tardis

Shit that I never thought I’d put together in a sentence:
Cold kebabs actually taste good.

This house comes with two single barrel shot guns.

Sometimes remembering something as mundane “I put blue nail polish sitting on that chair last night” can solve stupid puzzles like “where the fuck did we keep our flat keys and why is it that we can’t find it right when we are in a desperate need to leave immediately (we were getting late for work)?” It was on the damn chair.

My mom has been pestering me about a certain cat and I think I’m going to get exactly that for myself after I get my first salary. Something tells me that she won’t be happy with my interpretation of the word though.

Sickness scares me to death. My room-mate fell terribly ill over the week-end. I made soup for her, called the doctor, got her medicine. But the whole time I felt like I wasn’t doing enough. I just cannot sit and watch people suffer. It is a trigger.

I have been told on two occasions: “don’t worry I can kill people if it comes to it” Two fucking times. Either I worry too much, or I have this inane capacity to get myself in a lot of trouble.Also, I could never say I can kill people without snorting at myself. I can't.fucking.kill.people.even.if.it.is.to.protect.me. 

I might have been stalked. Or I might have pretended like I’m being stalked. Either of the two. 

Yes, I let myself like them because: See, heaven's got a plan for you. 

Let go. Let things happen. 


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