At least racism is still funny.
In a way. Racism isn’t really funny, but racists are based on how clueless they are. I love hearing racist people talk about how their racism. They put so much energy into it and it just looks exhausting. They probably are exhausted. Racists just need a nap is all.
I don’t have that energy so I just hate everyone the same amounts, except for that English major scruffy 20-something year old who dressed like an 80 year old and was clearly having the worst night of his life at the bar last night. I love him. No, I’m in love with him. I want to be with him. I want to get married, and hate the world together; hate it all over the place, on every continent, just seeing the sites and staring at each other with shared annoyed, knowing stares whenever we have to endure some idiot doing something dumb.
I mean, sure I didn’t even remember creepily staring at him for the majority of the night until I deleted my drunken posts at 6:30 this morning, but now I’ve thought about what I DO recall and slightly edited it in my brain, so now it’s kind of slow motion and sparkly and “Dreamweaver” is playing and yes, I am basing a romantic fantasy off of Wayne’s World 1.
The purpose of this post was to write about how I’m afraid I can’t progress past my faults, insecurities and fears and I’m becoming stunted as a human being because of them, but then it took a turn and now here we are. Here we are.
