It's three in the morning. I'm wearing my pyjamas but I still have my make-up on and my hair's wavy and smoke smelling and musical brother thinks I'm hot (and he'll read this and I don't care and he's (I repeat) not actually my brother) and drummerboy (who is both a boy and a drummer - some of my nicknames make sense) is making me cry because he just always knows how to say exactly what I need to be told. We're discussing whether taking risks is an essential part of life. He writes perfectly and he makes so much godamn sense. And he's drunk! If there's any fairness in life nobody sent any of it my way. The previous statement is quite obviously not true. But it's my diary so I can write total lies if I want to. Foo Fighters really suck and Everlong is such a shitty song with absolutely no good memories attached to it and dirtygirl and I would certainly never scream and dance like loons when it came on a club. See. Ohhh, you're wondering whether anything I write is true now aren't you? It's lies, all lies! Except for the first bit, and this next bit. I have some really beautiful girlfriends. I mean really, I have some gorgeous girlfriends. I guess because I've known them so long and see them everyday I don't notice it, but I noticed tonight and it made me so happy. They almost make me wish I was a boy. But then again, I have a some boyfriends who are so fantastic I'm glad I'm a girl after all. Are we all in agreement that localgirl needs a little sleep? Good good. Night all xxx
< - >
* the marks of memories forgotten
* wasting emotions, over again
* intentions, and such
* nothing unusual, nothing's changed - just a little older, that's all (damien rice : amie)
* now I understand! It doesn't make sense because it isn't supposed to
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