Money

is stupid. Let’s work three hours a day. To contribute. The rest of the day should be spent on creating. And we should all get the same pay. That is a happy life, a good life, and a much more sensible way to organize society. I wish people could see how stupid we made life. Working should not be your life. Live your life. Work three hours a day to make it worth living. A lot more people would be able to work, and a lot more children would have parents present. And a lot more of us would be happy. I think that is the way we should have done it. The way it is now makes no sense to me. I want to be free.

B.R.

Dear Diary

Today was a good day. I didn’t think about Him more than just now. I was too excited to see my friends. It was a good day.

It annoys me that He says He wants to stay friends, but hasn’t made even one phone call. Don’t tell me you want to be my fucking friend if you don’t. Sick of all the lies. And I don’t think I loved Him. You here that future-B.R.: You love yourself too much, you have no space left in that cold heart for anyone else.

Tuesday was a good day too. But had an unexpected ending. I fucked up real bad I think. I was with the band, celebrating one of the other ladies, and we got really shitfaced. And on my way home I drunk-dialed so many people. It was early morning by then. But the worst part is that I sent a text to 5. My ex whom I have only communicated with via snapchat, for the last six months or so. Or maybe more. I don’t remember when we broke up. Was it October? November? I sent him a text that was like this:

“Everyone keep telling me that I miss you so much. So maybe I do. But I will always love you of course, no matter what”

Who is “everyone”? No one has ever told me that. Do I love him? Nooooo. Would I like a hug? Yeeeesss. He responded and I think we’re good, except I fear he believes I love him. And I fear I might say it to him when we’re drunk this summer. Just to check if I’m still someone guys like him can love. Because he is one of the good guys. Life is hard and then we die.

B.R.

LoveStuck

So I think about boys in my past. And white keep popping up. He has always been the one I’ve compared other guys with. I think Him was the only one that really came close. But I fell for white wen i was fourteen, and never really gave up on him. Because he was the first to accept me as I am. But then again, he was a fourteen-year-old virgin so.. But I wish I could run in to him. Make him fall for me again. It was easy the first time. And it was nice. And safe. Or maybe not. It’s nice to have a fantasy-prince with a real face I can think about when I’m feeling blue.

B.R.

I am a creep

I realized I am a creep. Not the radiohead-king. The creepy- kind.

1. Stalking my ex-boyfriends is something I am doing way too much these days. But I am not good when I’m alone. I tend to be self-destructive because I get so bored. TV used to be enough. But not anymore. He has been some sort of heroin for me. Not love, more an obsession. And it’s about time it ended. I got addicted to the feeling, because even though He made me feel like shit, He made me feel something. I obsess over everything and now I can’t to that anymore. Because it won’t change anything. So I am now officially a Facebook-stalker. Stalking anyone who might have a heart I can break. Because mine is already broken.

2. I masturbate too much. I feel like this sleazy guy in his moms basement just pulling my wiener watching weird porn. Just to forget my pain.

3. I am sending weird drunk-texts to everyone I don’t care about. If you get a drunk text from me, that’s just me telling you I don’t care. About anything.

4. I cry in the shower.

I feel so fucking alone. I wish someone would just hold me and tell me it’ll be alright. I wish someone could make me care-

B.R.