“I want to say things my mind has not even formulated yet. I am bursting at the seams, with wordless thoughts and a gentle fire in my chest. It’s all because of Rowan.”
“I am so hungover.
The throbbing, angry punishment in my skull for all that tasty, tasty tequila and great wastage of money, fittingly matched the growing ache in my ‘art.”
“I’m hurting myself, and I let you hurt me.
I’m sad, but I’m saddened because I wish you were right for me. I’m sad because I wish you were someone you’re not. I’m sad because I wish you’d treat me the way you can’t. I’m sad because you don’t know how to love me, but I want you to love me anyway. I’m sad because I know I can’t ever let you again. I’m sad because I’ve felt you. I’m sad because you’ve touched me. I’m sad because I’d take it all back.”
“I wrote nineteen supps, both by choice and not. I failed seven modules; twice by not even making DP. I was excluded, and in essence, it took five years to complete a three year degree.
Yet, here I am – a waitress with a degree.”
“My social life is like The Bachelorette. I often wonder if there are cameras cleverly hidden behind trees and in dark corners, live-streaming to some dingy website where my straight fans are vouching for the best-looking guy and the lesbigay community watches in excitement every time I meet the ex-ladyfriend.”
“I’m a student. I get 100 bucks a week, and when I draw it out, the ATM gives it to me in 20s – as if to keep me grounded.
“Man, you broke. Let me help you ration.”
I hate FNB. If they aren’t reminding me of how broke I am, they’re taking away my money. Every time I draw out I can buy one less cup of awful campus coffee.
The only time I ever rolled in the dough was when I tried to make roti off an internet recipe.”