Orange

Dear diary,
Today I was told to develop a short story. I’ve been thinking about writing a monologue, but it isn’t worthy without red curtains, so I decided to pretend writing a diary (that sort of regretting-now-or-later-literature). Actually don’t know if somebody will be interested in my stuff (just 3 followers on Twitter. 140 characters). But well, it’s not that bad it seems, I’m on a relationship according to Facebook. With my best friend. I heard somewhere that this is the way you demonstrate your devotion to a close friend (maybe, when arguments, you change into “widow”, any marriage can rival hair-comparing). This morning I bit my nails once (forgot I was writing a diary). My favourite colour is orange, maybe that's the origin of my disorder when writing, really difficult colour.
It’s being difficult to make ends meat this month… ok, didn’t happen to me yet, it’s my mother’s everlasting-idiom, but don’t get me wrong, I’m really aware about life problems (may be difficult to combine both quality and survival). This is becoming a kind of a letter. Well, don't really mind. I’ve always been told not to be so rude when writing, but I absolutely disagree (everybody thinks this rude in their minds, mouth just beautifies its thoughts in order to be “a bird of a feather”). People like this, shaking hands or giving up the turn at the doctor is rewarding.
I hate contests, I just take part of this because of personal improvement.
Sorry, mum took my laptop.
I love money. Just prefer crying without thinking about selling my tears for healing other’s hangovers, prefer my own one, but don’t prejudge, I like cultural things too.
Hope dad prepares pasta for dinner.


2nd of January 2012