My chapstick fell behind my dresser. It’s wayy too big to move. My lips are chapped, and now that they’re on my mind, I can’t stop licking them. I can feel them becoming dryer as I type. I’m. All. Jammed. Up.
like both of my parents.
God, I’m driving myself insane.
My ability to carry on a conversation, projectile vomit, and tell passing girls that they look pretty — AT THE SAME TIME.