February 12th.

Living in metaphor.

Listening to: Dirty Business - The Dresden Dolls (This song should NOT remind me so much of myself.)

Mood: Tired. Fuck dreams.

Chatting to: Brendan, Liam, Bas.

So, I'm at Dad's, which means better internet. Hurrah?

Basically it means I can camerawhore and actually upload stuff. Because you totally want to look at pictures of me.

This is what I look like RIGHT NOW OMG:

Ree, sans makeup. I know. Rare. Brave, even?

Everyone knows how much I hate my face without at least eyeliner. My eyes are a funny shape. It doesn't help that in this photo I look cross-eyed.

But I'm feeling ballsy today. ("No, not real balls, metaphorical balls!" I swear, my conversations with Brendan always cheer me up. He's an awesome kid.)

It's To Write Love On Her Arms Day today. In Australia at least.

I used to be really hostile towards it, for stupid reasons. Basically I just thought it was some stupid thing shitty pop-punk bands were involved in.

Certain people changed my outlook though.

Unfortunately the angle in this one is bad, and it looks like it says LOVF. Also, it contains my face looking retarded.

Slightly better, more love and less of my face.

The best, all love and no face!

Also; note the random wrist-bone-thing.

I like my wrists. They're rather veiny, and for some reason I find that attractive. Not that I'm attracted to my own wrists. I'm sure there are people who are attracted to wrists. There's a fetish for everything nowadays.

And yeah, it was you. You've changed my mind about a lot of things, you know. I'm an organ donor now. I don't read my horoscopes anymore. I'm never touching pot. Wouldn't make a difference though, would it?

...Would it?

OH BY THE WAY BRENDAN LOOK I'M NOT BEING SLACK WITH MY BLOG SO YOU COULD TOTALLY DO IT TOO. BIG MOTHERFUCKING HINT. WOO.