what's interesting is that i am either all things or none. ecstatic or murderous. i'm not too worried. tom bought me seven tiny coloured presents, tiny tiny knickers. what i'm really wondering is how he can't see how actually horrid they look on me. i mean they aren't proportional at all. but he was very swollen, so i just let him have it.
the other night after dinner i wanted a naughty dessert pour le corps (my corps), he said no i have things to do and i said okay, eventually. it was fine. i'm not crazy like i was. but i found a folder accidentally on his computer called 'sluts'. images of women with truly hideous jewel boxes, and truly hideous faces. all the images filed on the night of the dinner. i mean everyone looks at porn, i mean i do it all the time. but he cuts me. i've got things to do, i've got to go compile a file of whore pictures.
he cuts me. but i'm not crazy like i was. i'm on the pills. the anti crazy. the neutralizers. the nothing makers.
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