I’m feeling cruel. I think it goes hand in hand with female boredom. The girl is stealing my soul. Particular boys are mattering to me. In spilling this obscenity, I suppose it means I’m growing into the whole estrogen thing. Bill’s lucky that there’s people keeping me occupied on-line right now else for lack of anything better to do I would be concocting the harshest playlist possible for him to walk in on. I’m fairly certain I have every song that could possibly be tied to Me and Us. That dream asleep from days back before I wasn’t a priority. I’d have to dig a bit to come up with something that wasn’t Bowie, but I’m certain I could do it. One, two, three, four. I dance like you darling. Flick it on like a switch. That taste for detail stings. Of course, as I’m not actually a vindictive person, it’s only something I want to do for the hell of it. I have no reason to, I’ve just been left alone too long today. I’m not so good with pointless malice. There’s no swap of love for hate in my soul, so it won’t happen. Bad enough I’ve re-done my hair. He knows I do all of it. I’d make for an interesting pin-up, curly patches of plum fur on pale skin. Somewhere a tiny voice will be screaming inside of him to fall on his knees and kiss it.
I’m even sorry for that.