Random.

Painting the roses red. I’m painting my toenails pink, does that count? My hair is a tangled wet mess, pinned up by hair sticks I bought in London. I was told they were made of bone; I didn’t ask what kind. I don’t like how the pink looks. I’d much prefer red, because it’s smoother and looks more realistic on me. The pink sticks out like plastic, an attempt at something fake and cheerful when all I really want is the color of blood on my toes. I handled cables today, let them slide through my fingers. We speak in acronyms; BNC, XLR, EDC, TRF. I’ve never lived with anyone for longer than a couple of months, and the only child in me is screaming right now. I went on the roof for a little while so I wouldn’t have to hear live voices, but the breeze and odd angle of sun rays covered my skin in goosebumps. Now I’m back in my room with Six Feet Under playing just loud enough to block out other things going on inside and outside the apartment, because I can’t actually be alone right now. So apparently I’m never going to be able to live with anyone for an extended period of time, because I go through phases in which I can’t deal with anyone but myself. If that, even, because “myself” for the past few days has been an inconstant ebb and flow of feelings and oddities, ranging from random excitement over the rainbow snake of BNCs to sobbing before I fell asleep last night. I’m self absorbed, typical only child, and don’t like when things don’t go how I want them to. I’m going home tomorrow, thank god, and will be able to sit at the pond by myself and read or drive somewhere for as long as I’d like. The only people I want to see right now are home friends, for whatever reason, although I was fine around EVVYs people yesterday and today. I just want to cook my Ramen, pack, maybe dance, and then pass out early so I can wake up at 7. I need to get out of Boston, even for only a day.