Nothing to talk about..

I don't know what to write about exactly right now. Can you imagine that?

Me? At a lost for words? Now there's something which doesn't happen everyday.

Actually, wait.

It does.

And when only someone asks me for an excuse that I come up quickly with one that it would seem too iratating to mention to them if they keep hearing them from me and in the end they say 'you have an excuse for everything'. And then I would be smiling so sly and they'd walk off the other direction feeling totally pissed off.

Not that I blame them, that is. Half the excuses I come up with are legite. The other half just come to me in the spur of the moment. ;oP

Speaking of 'spur of the moment', my parents just can't wait til I find someone and get hitched. Like that will ever happen. he he he. Good thing I brought along my good ol' buddy Mr. Conscience Guide. Had 'him' tell my parents that I would never set my eyes on a woman unless I totally feel that we have a basic level of understanding. Otherwise it's labelled kapoot from the beginning.

By the way, word from the wise; if you're suffering from a sickness and you need to take almost daily injection shots - like I do - then listen very carefully to directions on how to insert the bloody thing into your own skin. Mine's is supposed to hit under the skin. But since I missed that spot a couple of times I ended up pumping it into my own veins. God damn hurts, too. And I have the lovely blue tatoo to verify this lovely experience.

This reminds me of the time that when I was always young, I would always play around with my wounds no matter small or big. It's like I liked blood or something, I dunno. I remember this one wound that I had on my knee cap and it was almost that same size too, believe me. And, picture this; me, picking it, piece-by-piece. Strawberry milkshake is what I used to call it - blood, that is.

Who says a person can't have an active imagination?

And just so you know, I'm not kidding.

Sweet dreams cyberspace..