I went out last night, after a series of false starts to leave the house with tears and anxiety attacks (this is becoming a recurring theme, a visit to Dr Danks is probably on the cards which means I'll also have to talk about my recent A&E visit, yay!) I needed to get wasted and I did, I was sick and couldn't leave my bed today, never mind the house. The merry-go-round was in full swing and I couldn't get off, I lay in the bath for about an hour this morning, just trying to make the stampede in my head to stop. Why do I do it to myself?
Anyway, I'm irritated about something. Why do men, sorry BOYS, feel it's within their right to touch you up and come onto you just because you have an ass and a pair of boobs? "Oh sorry love, can I just get past..." *aforementioned arse grope* *death stare from Thirkill* Sometimes, if he's really lucky he gets a punch upside the head as he minces away feeling really awesome. Pat on the back, lady killer.
Just fuck off you ponce. If I want to be touched, I will somehow achieve that without needing some V necked tit making me feel like I need to douse myself in bleach. Euch.
Been female can be a bit of a curse. I just wanted to get blind drunk, have a mosh to some Paramore and request Juicy five times only to have the student bastards choice of ironic 80's pop override my desire to show everybody I can rap the song start to finish.
TUT.
No comments:
Post a Comment