no matter how good warm chocolate chip cookies sound when you get home from the bar, don’t make them. because even if they are those premade all you have to do is bake ones, by the time the oven heats, you’re really just tired and want to go to bed.

darling ones, i just feel so stupid about this whole outlaw thing. what was i thinking? i’m so much smarter than this. i really believed him. when he said he was different than the other guys, i believed him. i let my guard down– that was so dumb. i let my heart go too fast.

i harbored so many secret fantasies i never shared with anyone. really elaborate dreams of the future. a future where i got to bring in the bacon and he could write and watch the redhaired kids. those kinds of dreams, so silly, so shattered. and what’s so so sad is that i really wanted to do all that. i wanted to support him. i could ahve, you know.

so i decided that i need me a guitarboy that writes songs about how fabulous i am or i need a republican or a financial genius. that’s what i need.

what i really need is to go to bed and masturbate and sleep and not think of him once. that’s what i’ll do. tomorrow’s another day.