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Accepting the strawberry that makes me push everyone away in my life

It feels so good to be vague. I will come over and be vague. "Perhaps" "possibly" "maybe" Am I infuriating you? Making you vulnerable to suggestion? I don't know. You decide.

Apparently your twenties will find you more aroused by the prospect of certain sandwiches than by others your age.

Pickled. Fermented. Cultured. Certainly not chopped, and definitely not cooked.

Forcing myself to be kind when I want to be bitter and acerbic

No, really, I love the way you live your life. I can't wait to read your debut autofiction novel 'The Lies I Tell Myself To Live'.

It's very important to derive a disgusting perverse pleasure from noticing your own hypocrisy and then not really caring because you are perfect and special.

Giving the 'soft animal of my body' what it wants or whatever

No camaraderie these days. No "do you have a light?". All is dark. People puff out pathetic little clouds from machines. The cigarette is dead. The cigar lies buried. Men are selfish. There is no light

I don't care for the discourse. If anyone can repeat the first line of 'Lolita' to me verbatim that is an instant green flag, flashing lights, stars in my eyes. You are Literate. That is laudable.

If they don't want to share dessert with you, you are obliged to slaughter them. To banana split their skull. To make eton mess of them.

My protein goals are to have fun, relax, and maybe meet a nice girl

Doing this fun little trick whereby I replace my feeling with fruit

They are calling me anti-feminist all because I like to wax poetic.

Why am I feeling unrestrainedly violent and capable of slaughter and please don't tell me it's because I haven't eaten breakfast.

Maybe sex is nice but have you ever felt the urge to resort to writing a novel about how unbearably horny you are? Yeah. Well. You're not special.

"Soft animal of my body"? Uhh no. It's rather turgid actually. Verging on hard. You know, virile, full of life and that sort of thing.

Average girl going for a walk in summer

“What’s your field of study?” No, you’re right we should study more fields what an excellent idea.

First trial-date of my sordid liaison and I’m kicking him under the table in my obnoxiously pointy shoes and denying it because I’m told men enjoy mystery.