Hi. My name is Natalie. I’ve never weighed fifty kilos at any point of my life so far. Even if I should.
I think I’m crazy sometimes, but I’m actually just really, really, really, really sane.
My middle name means Hope. But I still haven’t decided whether I was called that because I meant hope, or if I was the one that needed it.
I don’t sleep much. In fact, last night I tried to go to sleep at ten thirty. I was still trying to get to sleep at 2:22 when I checked the time on my phone for the billionth time.
Anyway, I decided to get up because there wasn’t much of a point in just lying there for any longer. And in the time between getting up and falling asleep (finally) at three-thirty-ish, I wrote you a nice lovely not very happy story to read. Yeah.
And then I woke up again and it was 6:57. Nice, four hours sleep and I didn’t even go out last night.
So I’m really tired? Like, really, really, really tired. My back hurts. And my bones ache. And I’m hungry and I think I need to put on weight to fit into my ball dress, it seems I’ve lost a bit over the summer. Argh. Fuck. The Ball.
Did I mention that I was rambling?
But seriously. Argh. Fuck. The Ball. It’s soon, isn’t it? Two and a half weeks too soon. Oh well. At least my dress is nice.
Yeah the one that’s being worn at like every single other ball across the…town…city. Saying town makes me feel like I'm in some American gangster movie. Not really my scene.
I was going to end this really long and pointless post (Who the hell reads this shit? I wouldn’t!) right there. But just a quick note.
Dear guys of the world: text speech is not a flattering look. On anyone. Please, you went to primary school for a reason. ‘Layta’ is not a word. And it takes just as much effort to type/text the original spelling, so why the hell do you deliberately make yourself look like a pathetic fail of a human being that can’t even speak their native tongue.
It’s not nice. And it hurts my eyes.
