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(via fuckyeahflorencewelch)
remember that time when I decided to cement my love for the mountain goats and all they’ve given me by inking his lyrics into my skin? the tattoo traces the major veins of my forearm (places where I used to stick needles every day). this tattoo is a reminder that no matter what, no matter how hard it gets, I’m not going to give up. as unlikely as it seems, I can put faith in the idea that next year things can be better. next year, I’ll be okay. Next year, there will be peace. next year I won’t hate myself. next year I won’t want to die. Next year I won’t spend six months in bed. next year I won’t obsess over the past. next year, I’ll fall in love.
next year, things will be better.
I am going to make it through this year, if it kills me.
Tattoos with a story are beautiful. I wish you the best of luck with your year. That song is the soundtrack to my year, every year.
I’m in such a funk today. Damn.
Definitely thought I was over it. Guess not.
In the last five minutes my ears got clogged, my throat feets scratchy, and I got a headache.
I can not be sick. Not after the best weekend ever. I need to spend this week studying hard, not nursing myself into tip top shape.
Hello, bruise on my hip.
Thank you, Winter Jam crowd. At least I was enjoying myself too much to feel it happen, because by the size/location of it, I assume it would have hurt.
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Say Anything - Wow I Can Get Sexual Too
I called her on the phone and she touched herself.
Going back into Philly tomorrow.
My next door neighbor who is like a sister to me, but older than both my parents, has 2 free tickets to a play her friend is directly. So we’ll probably frolic around The Reading Terminal Market as usual for lunch beforehand and then go to a yummy vietnamese restaurant we both like for dinner after.
I have a giant bruise on my left inner shin.
That’s what concert crowds will do to you.
