Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me...

I have nothing to write, really. Nothing relevant, anyway. But then again, do I ever?

It's 2:38am.
I am wide awake.
Waiting to be struck by inspiration. Or lightening. Whichever comes first.

I'm so bored of being me. It's happened! After years of (almost) self absorption, I want to be P!NK. I see how it's an unlikely choice, but it's true.
Why? 'cause she's strong.
How I envy strength! It's not like I don't have enough of my own.
Only, mine is purely feigned.
What is it about strength that makes it so bloody hard to have?
I would kill to be that girl who walks with her head held high, with her kohl-ed eyes carrying a thousand dreams and her bag carrying her entire world.
Oh wait! I am that girl. Only, that-girl me is an illusion. A carefully crafted illusion for the world to believe.

I think I need love. And till the time love makes it to me, some great sex would be pretty darn good.

For now, I'm going to sleep.
Hoping that I dream about wings on my heels tonight;
about the tattoos I want etched on me;
about the people I want to hurt out of spite;
about him and his recovery;
not about my lack of strength.
For now, I'm going to be that girl who walks with her head held high, with her kohl-ed eyes carrying a thousand dreams and her bag carrying her entire world.
Only, she also smokes like a chimney for no reason, laughs way too much, has a mood swing installed in her backyard, lusts after money, daydreams about drunk dancing in three weeks and continues to be oblivious about all things important and is favoured by all things petty.

Current Favourite Picture Of Me. I'm told this picture 'tells stories'...

Good Night.