I shut my
bathroom door behind me. The music blasting from my speakers welcome me as I step
on to the brown furry rug beneath my feet. I remember all the people I warn not
to step on my carpets and rugs before washing their feet and chuckle at the
thought floating above my head. (insert laugh track here lol) I dry my hair with the wet towel and head straight
to my laptop, as if it’s almost innate. Bad habit. I cant even be 15 mins away
form the computer. What is this. I check youtube, twitter then facebook. Am I even
expecting something? Nahhhhh. I put on a fresh pair of pajamas and use my towel
to wipe my phone. Good habit. Can you imagine all the dirt and germs your phone
collects in a day?! Disgusting doesn’t even cover the grossness.
I walk towards
the make-up table and apply some v-cream shit on to my plummy cheeks. I hate my
cheeks, they are so fat, do not get my started. I dip my fingers into the white
creamy substance (lol) and apply the thick consistency onto my cheeks. My face
has become quite dry and flakey the past few weeks…. I circle the v-cream,
clockwise, hoping, praying, that maybe one day, after 1 year of using this
useless product, that my face will slim down to a, Megan Fox size? Please?
I turn
off my alien ware as I refuse to sit or go anywhere with my fresh, soft and
clean PJs. (yes, not even my own chair, in my room. ) I lie on my bed and
almost like second nature, I tapped the twitter icon on my iphone. What has
social media done to meeeeeeeeeeee. My subconscious scoffs at me as I scroll
through the tweets; the foodie tweets: “I AM SO HUNGRYYYY!”
the complaint queen
tweets: “I had to carry three text books home today so now I'm dying.”
And the
emotional tweets: “I hide things so well, I forget where they are sometimes.”
Sometimes
I wonder why I even bother ‘caring’ about other people’s lives. Laugh out loud.
I put my phone down carefully on the bed side table and start to make my bed. I
have to, HAVE to sleep in a nest, north, east and west must be barricaded. I
lie down and plug in the charger to my phone and put it next to me, on top of
my green tofu plush. I have 2 huge puffy blankets, I have no idea what they’re
called, but I love them so much. (and my small pillow toooo) Such comfort should be accompanied by a certain sexy boy. Jk. Not. Anyway. So usually
at this time I would be snuggled up like a hotdog between 2 buns, surfing the
internet, looking at pokemon, pixel art or game stuff in total darkness (I love
the dark) but I recently got the pdf of 50 shades of grey (reason for not
buying the book is that I am afraid of the cashier might judge me, and who
likes me judged?! American idol wannabes and top model wannabes.) so I lie down
on my side and start to read. The brightness beaming from my phone is awfully glaring and
I can’t help but wonder if my eyesight is getting worse by the second. I hope not.
I read and read and read, and I stumble upon a question: why does E. L. James
say cock so much. I mean, not in a sexual way but it’s always cocks his head or his head cocks to the side or something like that. I giggle at that word. It’s a funny word I must say. I feel
like a little girl, not a 20 year old, woman. I read for around an hour or two
and stop as I hear the birds chirping. What the hell, its 6am in the morning. Better
hit the sack.
Goonight and goodpie.
Love,
Cake
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