I own books. Lots of books. And I like books and reading and paper and authors.
I had forgotten these facts about myself.
Why? You're asking.
Because of these people
You see, there is a dangerous, probably hereditary genetic mutation going around American teens now-a-days.
I cannot help myself (probably because it's hereditary), I do not choose this life. I used to be a motivated, productive person, who cooked, showered, read, went to school, changed her underwear. But now I'm just...the opposite of that person. I look like fat Albert, sitting alone on my couch laughing and crying. . . .
. . . and slowly burning every social bridge I have ever struggled to build.
Cats came to my house today. They know, they know I'm a loser and destined to be alone.
I'm a nineteen-year-old cat lady. I just need to collect old newspapers and magazines and buy a blue bath robe.
And that, dear friends, is becoming my Facebook status.
Because I have no reputation to preserve. It was burned with the bridges. ...The social bridges from earlier.
I feel like a creepy alcoholic at an A.A. meeting, "Hello, my name is Kaylie and I am an alcoholic. And, also, I watch excessive amounts of television-usually on the weekends when most people my age are out having fun or having sex or (the lucky ones) having both at the same time."
You know those gross sores old people who live in nursing homes get? The ones from lying in the same position for too long?
If I get anything even resembling one of those, I'm blaming these people.
Basically, I'm pleading the eleventh amendment. Which, admittedly could either be about State's sovereign immunity or the right to bear arms. I'm not actually sure.
Probably because I spend my days decaying on a couch instead of reading my country's constitution.
But to be fair, it's a really long document.