joanna's out of work for at least another week. my body is sore, i'm exhausted, it's terribly cold because my mother lives like a goddamn eskimo all year round, my brother and his drama is overwhelming, and i've got so little to do with my life these days, it's disappointing.
i'm pretty sure i'd love to go back to last night. just playing scrabble, drinking coffee and eating pie.
moments like that remind me that it's okay to be happy. but then days like today happen, when i'm doing all-day-monday-work by myself (which reminds me i forgot to do cafe payables), my heart is beating in my chest then stopping, i'm sick and tired of everything in my life resembling the stormy weather of fucking london and i think i'm going to pass out early just so i can wake up one am and go sit in a diner by myself.
i want to see or do or be or something tomorrow. it's my day off, one that won't be involving a hangover, and the last thought on my mind is to spend it by myself at home doing nothing, and though i do so love my mother, i need the fuck out of this house.
i love diana and felipe and the litter that is my mutt-like family, but not having my own life sort of drives me crazy. i'm trying to branch out. maybe if i move. maybe chicago will be so lovely for me... maybe, just maybe, just maybe.
dear boy,
i want to call you.
answer.
love,
that girl.
-aleey.
ps. regina spektor, rufus wainwright, dead poetic and bob dylan seem to mesh very well. it's lovely.
night?
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