After great pain, a formal feeling comes --
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs
The stiff Heart questions, was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round --
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought --
A Wooden way
A Quartz contentment, like a stone --
This is the Hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow--
First -- Chill -- the Stupor -- then the letting go --
Lately, I've been looking forward to my Sundays. This Sunday not so much. Instead I put the focus elsewhere, for example; getting a fat ass. Headed to the gym and did some squats, it helps in that department. Almost studied - which did not exactly happen. I also cancelled my internet dating account. Besides the amount of crude messages from dickwads, I don't want to be that girl that sleeps with everyone (411: I'm not) and gives the impression of her sleeping with everyone (failing horribly with this blog because of its name). Besides why bother sleeping with everyone if it doesn't get me off a.k.a. I need to LIKE him. Otherwise I start getting uncomfortable and worrying about itty bitty things and then realizing "hey, you're not enjoying this at all. This is super wack". Which brings me back to Sundays, because they're not wack.
Ugh, take a look at that verbal diarrhea. ^^
Well, in case you are that reader (and I hope to GOD you're not) it's not sex I'm talking/writing about, it's more of a general picture I'm trying to jab at.
Fack man! Verbal diarrhea for real! Embarrassing.
P.s. This is why studying is good. It prevents you from embarrassing yourself, because you're sort of shy. Okay, time to go.
P.p.s Not a fan of poetry, but Emily is making my tastebuds salivate for more.