zinzinish

dark humor is wonderful, it allows you to complain without seeming like a whiny idiot.

so screw being a grown up, i say. i’d rather be a baby. i miss my mommy. i miss my best friends. i bought a huge stack of postcards today and i plan on writing a lot a lot. i miss chipotle, which i told carl about, and then couldn’t quite explain why i missed it since i’ve never been into mexican food, and i’m not that into chipotle. i think it’s about my last memory associated with the place: easy conversation, laughs, wonderful old friend so comfortable, like a worn in leather couch (and i swear they put something in the rice that hooks you. cocaine?!).

it’s weird, i can’t quite bring myself to write about paris, although i’ve seen gorgeous things and met cool people. all i want to do is talk about how coming here has made me see the connection between me and my mama. i mean, it’s never been like this for me. maybe because she’s never been quite this much out of reach. this connection that i think everyone else knows better than i do. for the first time, i feel like a baby snatched from the womb, all cold and shivering and covered in blood and placenta and poop and all i want is a hug from my mama.

for a while, this blog is going to be about my inability to cope, and neediness, and an analysis on the salt content of tears and their stain making qualities. if that’s your cup of tea, this is the place for you my friend.

blackberry crush and teenage lust