MONDAY
1:09 a.m. I went on this date with a Scorpio. Even though Scorpio men like me the least. It was almost like I had the desire to punish myself. And then I was like, why don’t I go on a date with a Capricorn next. Because they like me the second least. And for some reason, passing by my old apartment at 205 Allen Street, I took this blurry pic of me. I was so unhappy. And everything seemed so impossible. Not life. But love. Because what is the point of like, going grocery shopping or driving a car or taking a train if there isn’t love somewhere just like, waiting for you. And anyway. It made me think of this Richard Brautigan poem. I don’t know why.
We Stopped At Perfect Days
We stopped at perfect days
and got out of the car.
The wind glanced at her hair.
It was as simple as that.
I turned to say something—
(Lately I’ve been wearing a lot of camo because I feel so baby and need as much protection as I can get. I wouldn’t fuck with me right now if I were you. Or anyone.)