You don’t write a paper, you write on a paper; or in this day and age, write on a computer, which prints what you write onto a paper.
I feel like the distances are getting bigger the longer I am with these people.
A newly found acquaintance/friend asked me if I was “bi” the other day. It was preceded by “no offense.” I took offense even though I shouldn’t. According to him, clues included femininity. I discovered that some people thought that I was gay before going out with my current girlfriend. Oh well, I cannot change how I act.
The guy who asked me if I was bisexual is going out with a girl who is bisexual. I don’t know if that is irony, coincidence, or none of the above. Well, I thought he was going out with her. Turns out it is more complicated than that.
Everything is more complicated than that. I am meeting more and more people who cover up their cutting impulses with ink (tattoos as they are commonly referred to).
I just left a party because it was lame. Or maybe I was lame. It was probably a combination of both. I am writing a paper right now. That is pretty lame.
I need to fix my truck. That is also lame.