*That’s a roman numeral, not the letter V, just go with it.
This week’s reasons for why bitches are whack, is brought to you by the letter ‘T’-for therapy. I fear that I need to make a pit stop to the ol’ therapist at some point soon. There’s so much swimming in my head about life, and what I’m doing, and why I can’t ever just be happy when things are actually ‘ok’. But it never happens. Normally I’d say (ok, Lizzie said) "it’s the thought that counts", but it just isn’t working for me this time. It just happens I guess, when you get to a point where everything is fine, but you feel like you might possibly implode. I’m sick of feeling like there’s something more that I could be doing, and maybe I should just get off my ass and do it. All talk and no action (take that as you may), makes HB a miserable girl. There is comfort though, in knowing that instead of letting myself succumb completely to my depression that I’m heading it off at the pass. Let’s just say that the first time I realized I was depressed after years of repression, I ended up harming myself and being so fucking miserable that I couldn’t stand it. I was left with permanent scars to remind myself every fucking day just how awful it was, therefore I refuse to go back to that. Anyway, let’s not talk about depression anymore.
Yesterday, after the diamonds and platinum moment I thought about how awesome it would be to become affianced. You know the ring and I kind of have a thing for diamond and platinum. And then the more I thought about it the more I was like fuck that, I just want the ring not to be with someone for the rest of my life. Like a permanent roommate. For. Ev. Er. (I’m 22, I’m allowed to have these feelings) So after some thought, I realized that the whole getting a ring thing, just made me really want to get a manicure.