An introduction of sorts. I guess.

Perfectionism is a bitch.
I've sat here for the better part of two hours typing away only to realize that I hate it all.

All.

So it's gone. And I start over. Whilst rolling my cigarettes and playing with the newly boat-knotted cord of the new headphones I've been pining for since my last ones were crushed under the ass of one of the coolest lesbians I've ever known.
What a ladies lady.

Hardly the point.

I'm going to roll another cigarette.



Alright. So the point is, I'm sitting here, attempting to remember how words go together in pretty ways because I want to remember the past twoandabit years of my life.
I want to have a somewhat hard copy of the days that lead me to a place in my life I never imagined I'd be. Or at least, what I can recall of them.
So this is the fairytale version. The dream-like version of a story I never had the sense to write down in the first place because when do characters ever realize they're in a story? The version where I can only remember the extremes. The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful. All the details in between have been lost. But that's okay. I like fairytales.

I don't claim to be a writer. I've ignored the art for so long that I can't comprehend a time when I thought I could write. This won't be pretty, but believe me when I say it's more frustrating for me to put out the crap that I will, in fact, put out, than it is painful for you to read it.
Not that I expect you to.
Whoever you are.

Hello.

Edit: Even now my perfectionism has had me edit this post three times in the past two minutes.