This blogger’s clearly bonkers and a mad brilliant writer.
I’ve been in this waiting room for over two hours and I am glad that it’s not summertime.
I haven’t eaten for a few days and I’m feeling so on edge
that I need some snow
to take the edge
of the edge
off the edge.
A girl with blue hair is watching me watch the clock and I wish that she’d fucking stop it.
The radio is not tuned correctly and the fuzzy static hurts my bones. I want to throw the radio out the window but I don’t want to get arrested until I’ve been seen by the nice Irish nurse: she’s going to lecture me about safe sex, ask me a thousand uncomfortable questions, and then shove a plastic matchstick in my arm (so that I can’t create any smaller, needier versions of myself and my mistakes conquests).
I’m wondering if it is compulsory for…
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