voila!

my room is complete. my room. i chose the color of the prison walls. i painted them. i wake up to them. they are mine. when i come around the corner, shut the door, blast twothirtyeight at an unreasonable volume and stare at the wall, it will now be either red, yellow, blue, or lime green. not a copy of the walls in the room i was trying to get away from. it is my nook. my cranny.

and it looks fantastic!

as i was lying in bed last night i thought about that old song...i can't remember the name of it or even who sang it, but the lyrics are odd. "young girl, get out of my life. my love for you is way out of line. better run, girl. you're much too young, girl." did nobody catch the meaning of this song back then? did it not occur to the good people of yesteryear that this guy could be a pedofile? that this song could be about his early struggles when he used to let them go from guilt?

then i decided that i should get new thoughts.

"credit is a whore that won't wake up and leave, but believe me i'm not sleeping with her anymore." my mom laughed when she heard that. i love my mom. my dad would've rolled his eyes or made some holier than thou comment simply because it was a reference to something sex related. it wasn't even a reference it was a metaphor. i'm glad my mom has a brain. and she was tapping her feet to the song as well. i think she actually liked twothirtyeight.

mom - despite your outright refusal to allow me to continue being an irresponsible child, you're the coolest.