I took off my pajama, put on some lipstick and a striped shirt and went to dance for one hour.
Now it's time to sleep.

Whenever I feel the urge to write down anything it could probably mean something absolutely utterly terrifying or, maybe, it's just the circle of habits slowly returning. But since I originally wrote this on paper, in fuckin' English, listening to Morrisey, eating yogurt with blackberries, after the longest and gloomiest day in months... I don't see what good could actually come out of this.

I'm trying to blame it on the hormones and my ovaries and the fact that I'm at home alone while people call me on the phone assuming that on a thursday night I would be out and about "having fun" and I certainly can't find any good explanation why I shouldn't be so I just don't answer and I completely lost the sense of this sentence and that's so very alliterate of me.
Here, I look at this paper I wrote and I realise my handwriting started awfully sharp and now it's just round and girly and so very similar to my mother's one. Funny. I really remind myself of her.

The urge started with a sentence that I noted on my laptop: "I'm not forever-alone, I'm just forever-lonely". So fuckin' true, so fuckin' 13 years ago, adolescent-like but current. I still cry as a baby when I hear I don't want to wake up on my own anymore but when you're 15 you don't really know what it will be like to be almost 30 and still looking for that stupid "one" to watch boring music documentaries eating veggie soups on the couch with. Too melodramatic? Probably, I'm a natural born actress, I can move myself to tears pretending things I don't even know.
Such a waste of talent, my life. Spending warm summer days indoors.