1.21.12 (for you i am now dying)

I've always considered myself a professional at something. I've mastered the art of being a couch potato. Lately I've come to think that I've earned myself a promotion: I am a pretender. I've gotten so fucking good at it, you wouldn't even know. Pretending I do or do not care. I should get a fucking award for my efforts in maintaining the many illusions that hold together the fabric that is my sanity, and that get me through the night and day. It's funny, a friend told me that in his relations with women he usually hurts them, but in mine I just go on hurting myself. It's alright though, I'll just pretend that he isn't right.