That Is Mahogany

Sometimes things just aren't right to post on tumblr.

Also, sometimes listening to Gangnam Style on repeat is definitely right.

3am on a Friday is the best time for this.

Maybe. I don't know. I need to write something that isn't batman fanfiction (sup I'm a nerd) and my brain has been turned to scrambled eggs from watching Inception and obsessively looking to see when Cobb is and isn't wearing his wedding ring. (It's actually his totem. Look for it, he only wears it in dreams, that spinning top was Mal's totem, he just uses it to see if he's going crazy or not)

Talking of crazy, I must be. I went and deleted Zoolander from my computer. I need Will Farrell screaming that he feels like he's on crazy pills and that foamy lattes make him farty and bloated. I need this because of reasons.

For the past four days, I've been sat in a room bleeding words out of my fingertips. I haven't been able to bring myself to do anything else. I really do feel like I'm on crazy pills. I went outside like 3 times today because I feel like I'm going fucking insane.

Also, I've watched Warrior like 5 times (not exaggerating) and I cry at the end literally every time. My therapist says I like fictional people more than real ones because actors aren't thinking about and doing five things at a time so I actually understand their body language and stuff. If they're what I understand, why wouldn't I like them better? Of course, BradieCat is an exception to this. Not that I 'get' him at all times, I so don't, but I have magical empathy powers where he is concerned. Clearly this is why I married him.

Since melting my hair off, some of my special friends have arrived. By special friends, I mean wigs. This has led to a lot of time spent staring at myself in mirrors. (I say as if that's at all unusual for me to do all the time. Can't help it. Love my face. Not sorry.)

Also, quick everyone go follow Michael Jordan on twitter. It not actually Michael Jordan, but it's the funniest account since Mark Hoppus had an argument with himself about shrimp and prawns and Australians.

I would say my life sucks and is horrid and vile, but that's not actually true. What it actually is, is that in addition to grudgingly adoring Tom Hardy, I go to sleep at 7am and wake up four hours later. Eeevery fucking day. Today, I fell asleep for four hours in the middle of the living room floor. And then we went grocery shopping and I got...

Tomatoes? I literally have no idea what I got because I'm autistic and my short term memory for shit like that (which doesn't matter as I'll know what I've bought if I look in the fridge) is terrible in an abysmally embarrassing sort of way which makes me feel like a fucking dingbat sometimes.

Can I just talk about Bronson for a sec? Because that movie is weirder and more disturbing than Being John Malkovich. Not that either are bad, but puppets are fucking weird and John Malkovich going down on some lady is something, not unlike Tom Hardy's flaccid wang, I could have happily never, ever seen. Unfortunately, I cannot unsee either of these things and they will forever be burned into my brain. This is the part where I would like to quote Jessie Slaughter's dad, but he never said anything fitting.

I feel like I have brain constipation. I'm trying to write everything else here so I can go back to my story. Because I'm Batman and it feels like yoga.

Oh hm. Apparently I wrote everything else. Sleep sounds like the best plan because its 20 to 4.

Lets crack on, shall we? Tally ho and what not.