erin

i remember this time i stayed at a boy's house. he lived with his parents, and i barely knew him, only that he was damaged and delicate. i woke up all alone the next day with leatherface on the record player, playing over and over and over in a very depressing way... i lay awake on that futon for what seemed like hours, afraid to venture outside those four helpless walls, in case the feeling would go away and i'd never quite get it back again.


whenever that feeling comes back i want to punch myself in the face.

why does it seem like such a terrible waste of time to sleep in during the summer? whenever i wake up i think about all the things i could be doing... but it's so gratifying to pull on something with the heat in mind, and slip on some thong sandals to walk to the corner store for a sob. i love lazy days, without a thought of rushing off somewhere before breakfast is digested. hot days, warm nights. i can't fucking wait.