Keep goin'

Creep

I wake up this morning at approximately 3am and make the healthy decision to scream into my pillow. Literally. 

Why? 

I have no fucking clue. 

After screaming I grab blindly for my glasses. Unfortunately, my can of Fanta from last night falls to the ground. Whatever. I put my glasses on and grab my iPad. 

Jokes. 

I'm not rich enough for that shit. 

It's some rusty old tablet that was probably made somewhere in China through child labour. Gosh. Too bad if it wasn't for Shein I'd probably have to walk everywhere butt bloody naked. Like, if I was rich I'd have morals. 

I continue watching Vampire Diaries and then Damon Salvatore is on the screen, and whaddya fucking know, my hands are down my pants. I wank for a bit. 

And no, that was not sarcastic. 

I am genuinely as horny as a teenage boy at 3:30am, no fucking shit. Sometimes I actually wish I was a teenage boy though. They wank off so easy. Like, I thought girls weren't supposed to be horny? Isn't that the whole fucking point of an clit? And yet, I'm genuinely thirstier than a crackhead. If a crackhead was thirsty. Do they get thirsty? 

I search it up. 

They do. 

I'm remembering that for future conversations with my nonexistent friends.

Robbie takes that moment to lick my face. Aw. I guess I have one friend. 

Sometimes I think he can read my mind. Cause, like, we're soul sisters. He's ugly as fuck, I'm ugly as fuck and we both have the most excellent silent farts ever. 

Robbie's my rescue dog, that I literally rescued. I found him on the genuine sodding streets snuffling his way through someone's abandoned Tesco sandwich. It was plain ham and butter. Like, ew? I had legit never seen a more horrid dog in my life. He had fleas and shit and one ear was floppy, and the other was stuck up, his fur was a scraggly texture the colour of concrete and he had a tongue that didn't fit in his mouth. He's constantly panting, and it looks like he's always smiling like a little devil shit. 

He's so ugly it's cute. 

His breath unfortunately smells like cheese and onion crisps. 

I named him after Robert Smith, not that anyone cares. Well, all the goth people that care hate my arse. Like, okay I like wearing pink clothes, it doesn't change the fact that Robert Smith is a motherfucking king. 

I appreciate all types of art, cunts. 

Like, Oasis, Radiohead, The Cure, Elton John, The Smiths — all the classic dad shit really. I also happen to appreciate queen shit. Ariana my slayer, Taylor my diva and OLIVIA RODRIGO MY FUCKING SISTER. 

That's taste, bitches. 

Drake is not a personality. 

Robbie eventually settles beside me and thumps his tail twice whilst attacking me with his wet nose. 

Translation: scratch my ears bitch. 

I comply because I'm weak like that. 

The Vampire Diaries episode ends, and Netflix does that judgemental pause where it asks, "Are you still watching?" 

Yes bitch, I'm still watching. 

I'm also still breathing, still making poor life choices, and still pretending I'm not going to regret being awake at this ungodly hour. Thanks for checking in. At least someone cares.