I hate my birthday. It feels like it should matter but it doesn’t at all. It’s like anticlimactic without any peak.
Part of it is probably the change in how hard I used to celebrate Halloween/bday with everyone, and since I moved to NC I’ve not done anything really for those days. My 21st I spent crying into my drink alone outside a bar. Now I’m 23. It’s not much different now, but at least I have a hot boyfriend who puts up with my emotional crap and gives me kisses on his way out the door anyway. Bong rips with boo and back to sleep now, don’t have shit planned except skipping work and a massage. Fuck off world.
“Most people think of themselves as individuals, that there’s no-one on the planet like them. This thought motivates them to get out of bed, eat food, and walk around like nothing’s wrong. My name is Oliver Tate.”—
“That’s accurate," Mason said. "You’ve got to nail them through the wrists and use big wooden washers, otherwise they get loose and start flapping. Idi Amin and I found that out the hard way when we reenacted the whole thing in Uganda at Easter. Our Saviour was actually nailed through the wrists. All the Crucifixion paintings are wrong. It’s a mistranslation between the Hebrew and Latin Bibles." ”—