You can stop dating regular men now, because it’s me, your local Sad Boy. I’m here to hold your hand as I agree with you that men really are totally awful—but not me because I’m sad!—and then I’m going to try and change everything about you and be mopey about it when you resist.
Half of the outlets didn’t work and we had a cupboard that specifically housed a nest of spiders that we never properly dealt with and one roommate used a baseball bat to smash our smoke detector when it kept going off and I’ve never been more sad to leave a place.
Listen up, peasants. I have a fucking succulent on my windowsill now. Do you understand what this means?
❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 💸💸💸
I do this horrible thing to myself where, whenever I see the time and/or date, I instinctively check: What was I doing an hour ago? 24 hours ago? A month ago? A year ago? It’s a NIGHTMARE of a compulsive tick that makes me dwell on the past for several moments.
I’ve probably googled the height for every male celebrity there is and I feel like I can confidently say they’re all 5’6.”
It is with a heavy heart I must make the announcement that, yes, I will be continuing my unhealthy coping mechanisms from the last 23 years of life indefinitely.
I think I’m trying to distract myself from thinking about other things because any thought that comes about naturally at 3AM is going to be a disaster.
This is unfortunate news!
This is as equally devastating for you as is it for me, but we just can’t be together. Art is driving us apart—and by art I specifically mean mine, because I can’t remember what you told me you did, but I’m an architect. I just need to focus on my craft. And also sleep with other people.