Sticky.

I'm listening to this song that reminds me of him. Of his smell, of his car, of his stupid haircut, of his smile that leaned to the side a bit...it's stupid and I need to stop. I know.

And talking of stupidity is the girl of the hour...the seemingly always brought up girl, in my blogs. She is still alive, and don't get me wrong I am grateful for that, but in a sense she is already dead. Giving her creative mind things to smoke out of. Ideas to make her dark world a little brighter. A boot, an apple, a trophy. Nothing matters. She is caught up in the smoke and she can't see, but she also can't breathe. And she can't breathe because she is constantly suffocating her world with shit.

And then the other girl who's never mentioned, because dude it just hurts to talk about her. How close we used to be-and yet I have to find out about her well-being through other people? How sick is that. Chew on that a bit, and you'll realize it's plastic and you're thinking to yourself--"Kelsey what in the hell are you saying?"...and then you raise questions about the probability of getting high through skype. That somehow the smoke enters the speakers and through your gullet and you choke out the same smoke that she had once inhaled.

Merry Christmas and my world seems less glue-able. I should probably clean my room, but Grey's Anatomy sounds better.