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a psychic told me to seek jesus.

March 20, 2016

no joke.

this is a thing that happened.

subtitle: this is for anyone with an off the charts blood alcohol content who’s ever tried to make a blog post. Kudos.

I thought about going into the session with the psychic  dressed in freshly pressed abercrombie khakis, flipped colllar on a polo. Do people still do that? I have memories of it from nyc more than a decade ago, but I still haven’t been able to live with the traumatic memories, so my recollection is hazy but involves an annoying new england prep school bitch who used to steal shit out of my cubicle despite that her family’s estate made it feasible for her to live a life of utter decadance without a day of work. But no. That bitch took my stapler. Seriously. She took my favorite markers. SHE TOOK MY VAN GOGH WHITEBOARD MAGNETS!!!!!!!

boo, you whore.

Fucking ivy league bitch. She still owes me for a pizza.

trust me on this. she was EVIL.

also, i/m crazxy dru nk.

case in point

here’s todays soundtrack. sasha, xpander edit. i think was on The Beach soundtrack, but i’m so fucking lazy that I won’t even bother to look it up. Besides. I’m 95% sure I’m right about this.

I have so little respect for anyone left.

Holy mother, I’m so drunk. I forgot what drinking is like. drunk is so not good. I sent my love to FastCa via text, who is, of course, gone on the road for work for a while. He’ll be back in a couple months, but I miss him when he’s gone.

So drunk.

The psychic said i’m not living up to my potential. She said, “You know you’re an empath right?”

No. Fucking. Shit.

I have lately been thinking there is a Very Fine Line between empath and sociopath, or at least what happens when you cross one with another. I’m almost positive i’m not a sociopath, but I sometimes have my doubts about MTIA. I try hard not to make excuses for his behaviors, but I still always find a way to justify his latest round of BS.

I have come to the conclusion that I’m okay with living in the body I grew up with (as opposed to going through hormone replacement therapy or gender confirmation surgeries. And while it makes me sad that FastCar doesn’t understand a huge facet of who  I am, it’s easier to let my identity be whatever he needs it to be to satisfy his ego

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