i hear people two floors below singing happy birthday, just as we did two nights ago, and I wonder why i only leave the one window open that i do. why not open another, to smoke, to write.
im thinking about LA, and reading less than zero, set in LA, thinking about how much it resembles my current life. i have begun to feel restless again, hating my job and thinking of what would make my life better. the wine and the smokes and the coke feels good, but it never seems to fulfill and i can't help but feel that my life has become one giant cliche. a cliche filled with amazing dinner parties and bumps of coke in various bathrooms and hazy loft parties with more lines and models trying to be stand up comedians and random conversation with said models talking about what an asshole he is then and now, while snot runs down his face.
i want it all to change, but i will never be the girl who goes to sleep at 11pm only to wake up to work out or go to work, feeling content about it all. but i do feel content in the simplest form of the word. i enjoy my friends, i'm okay with working, and "life goes on" as the beatles currently tell me. but i want more, and will try not to disappear.