(eta: bumping this to the top as a note that my journal is not dead, just updated rather infrequently in a combo of locked and unlocked posts.)
I am a girl. I have exactly eleven hours and thirty minutes to go.
I amnineteen generic age, a student, and something of a screw-up (you can use the euphemism "delightfully quirky"). I wear striped stockings, and the last time I wore the heart stockings an elderly man yelled to me,"Just stay the way you are Shirley Temple nobody'll do shit to you it'll all be cool!" before he walked off into a crowd.
I am actually a repository of odd stories, extreme situations, and other odds and ends. I make messes, mangle the English language, and get lost a lot. Obligatories over.
I am a girl. I have exactly eleven hours and thirty minutes to go.
I am
I am actually a repository of odd stories, extreme situations, and other odds and ends. I make messes, mangle the English language, and get lost a lot. Obligatories over.
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