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fuck the counting
Lately, I've morphed into Saint Bitcheroo. Trust me, you don't really want to know the amount of noise and chaos that goes in my head. This evening will see me letting loose some steam with the babe. Maybe tomorrow we're scooting over to Haji Lane for some... well, something. I'll need to remember to wash my skinnies and shirt and contemplate getting white tank tops.
Sometimes I really hate boys.
Ever get the feeling that you're always somewhat left with scraps? More often that not, people don't appreciate that you set time aside just for them and they don't even work at making themselves seem presentable? Okla. I suppose I'm guilty, perhaps I am. Screw my efforts at being things that I'm not. If I had a choice, I'd go out and meet the world in my running jersey, FBT shorts and Havainas. Because if it was really me, as I am, I wouldn't give a fuck.
Why bother dressing up? Why bother looking pretty? No one gives a shit. Seriously. No one does. And you hate it. I hate it. It makes me feel, unlike myself.
Anyway, screwing that aside. June for my first ever paintball session. Psyched up hell yeah! Orchard Mile Run and Shape Run swinging around those months as well. This weekend is the Adidas Women's Run. Tonight when I drop off at Vivo to take the bus back, I'm renting Mirrormask because I've been wanting it since I was at Borders. I think I'm better at running aggression and angst off than fucking it out. I need to get away. :P