I wish there was enough space in my room to paint.
I’m making space. I’ve always hated this carpet anyways.
I keep telling myself I’ll leave for work
After this song
And then another song
And I’m just going to sit here listening to music for the rest or eternity and never leave this spot
I’m going to die a slow, syncopated death by a playlist named “Rick James”
I regret nothing
Where like… Midnight, and one AM went.
How did it become 2 in the freaking morning?
telling me I am made of longing.” —Rilke (via daisydandelions)
My body hates me right now
Also work called me off
“Hey we’re giving you the night off!” Like I’m supposed to be happy or something.
I’m so glad I picked up those other two shifts…
You people are small and illogical and very, very frustrating.