I should preface this by saying i drew the clown noses. Of fucking course i did. You know me far to well to even think otherwise, though. Or you think you know me. You didn’t even know my name until today, but even I’d say you can at least mimick me well if you really wanted to. I’ve been told by my moirail i write the way a maniac does, and there’s no lie in that. Apparently the way you space things and when you paragraph IS important. But anyways. I never expected my wandering to actually DO anything. Most of the time when i do this i just run into walls and go home bloody and crying. So! This is what- the third time I’ve actually done something fucking right? All while I’m here? I’m starting to think zampanio is a good influence on me. Or maybe its got a soft spot for fuck ups. Regardless, these books hurt my head. Why else do you think I’m writing over the text? I have my trusty clown red whatever I’m writing with. And they seem relevant. I’d tell you what it all meant if the words would stop changing and shifting and spiRALING DAMNIT STOP. I can’t have fuckin anything here. Not that i mind- i do actually find it rather endearing. I split today yknow. It was stressful and old experiences that happen again are always so blegh. So all this isn’t even the weirdest thing to happen today. Nice try though! I can appreciate the effort. In your effort to be scary (thats the wrong word but suspend the disbelief for me, please, PLEASE, somebody just listen just respond just once) you’ve given me a space of my own. And its comforting! I’m not old news I’m not forgotten I’m not thrown off once I’m annoying instead of Ramona flowers! And who knows how long any of this will last. But for now: DIBS! i know you saw the chat (who am i talking to? I dont know who ‘you’ is so dont ask me, i just like to talk outwards) so we both know that once I sleep in a room its mine, so, now you get to watch me curl up in this pile i made of these frustrating shifting books, and sleep.
Goodnight.
I’ll see you tomorrow.