Mother…

F*** my Zits!

You know? F*** it all. This has not been a good week. In fact, there has been nothing enjoyable about this week at all. I’ve made agreements with those who know about this blog that I have absolute artistic freedom and creative control to write about whatever I choose whenever I choose. You know what I’m sayin’? Picking up what I’m laying down? I know no one is exempt from fighting with their significant other, but honestly, my complexion has me very frustrated…just irritated with everything.

I’ve had some flare ups or bad breakouts in the past, but this is ridiculous. I really can’t pin it. And everyday I have to see some guy, who in my opinion is notable, hitting on Maggie. That’s just the way it is. That’s status quo. Usually, I push myself toward seeing it as a compliment, but lately… I just know that I’d rather look at some of these other people than myself, so, I really would like to f*** some zits up, you know? Just slap ’em around. Really give them the good cop, bad cop. “What do you want with me?” “Why can’t you just bug out? Piss off?”

So, I brood. Because if there is anything more unattractive than pitching a fit, it’s insecurity, right?

We’re supposed to go to this monster Halloween bash on Saturday night. I have no idea what I’m going to be, but I will pretty much guarantee you that it will involve wearing a mask. I’m going to look as imposing and scary as possible. Dude deterrent. Or perhaps I’ll go as a Ninja. That’s always intriguing, mysterious and just creepy enough to avoid.

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