Sat 19 Mar ∞ Permalink

i’ve never been very good at fixing things. most of the time it’s inevitable; i’ll recognize its irreparability and simply find something new to replace it with. sometimes i’ll actually drop, twist, damage, or bend it so i can justify its replacement. sometimes i’ll convince myself that it came broken — that it was always this way. sometimes i’ll lose it. sometimes i’ll realize there’s just something incredibly wrong with it — so it must be close to breaking anyway, right?

i guess what i’m trying to say is i miss having meaningless sex with people who didn’t matter. when i break something forgettable, i don’t have to worry about oh-dear-god-what-have-i-done or where the fuck my super glue is.