She never thinks before she writes.

I guess I can't write anymore. I'm not sure. You know how I used to before. Where words were incensed and had some meaning. It's like everything is garbage. Nothing makes sense. Is there a purpose for anything? Yes, perhaps. But perhaps not. What a weird being to be. Are we human? Really? Ah, I'm not making any real sense, am I? Um, I guess the whole point of this rant is absurd. Because I never knew anything. And I wonder if I ever will? The thought's one to contemplate, and sure as the hellions of hell, scary. I'm sad. I hope this isn't a depression. I'll always be this girl. Shy, weird, lonely, different. 

Her: You forgot moody. Moodddeeee. You're very weird, also.
Me: Perfect, thanks.

Facebook is Dumb

Everyone likes to say things. Say smart things. Be noticed. Recognised. Appreciated. Well, I think you're dumb. You're stupid. My writing sucks.

Goodnight bros.

Conversations with the Brain

Her: I'm a girl of many talents.

Me: Oh really. And what are you doing about it?

Her: Well, nothing mostly. But I'm happy. I'm blogging regularly too.

Me: Blogging? That's your big move after being a proper writer and editor?!

Her: Um. Yeah! Why?

Me: Tons of reasons.

Her: Don't be a killjoy. You know that I like my space and time, doing my own thing. Having nobody to report to.

Me: Yeah, but sometimes it's what you need. Besides, do you even have a source of income?

Her: Not really. But I'll get to that when it bothers me.

Me: You mean when you have no more money for your little shopping escapades? Sure. (Snickers)

Her: You're just being a mean dick.

Me: No. Realistic.

Her: Why are you like this? At least, my life is completely stress-free at the moment. I think I might actually be self-actualised, at this point.

Me: Keep dreaming. I'm not saying anything, do what you want.

Her: Okay.

Me: Okay.