2011? I couldn’t write about 2011. I took far too many psychedelics to express last year in words.
I will try, however.
I worked, a lot. Hard. Several promotions came my way. I deserved all of them. I tried to return to heartlessness but I found myself more in love. I loved you all year but I wish I didn’t fuck you all year (but i’m so glad I did). It has left me so bitter and back the front. I developed a very silly tolerance to all of my favourite drugs: pills, acid, k, gas etc. So silly that I was dumping more than ten dingers in a casual night or eating upwards of four tabs at once. I’ve lost thirteen kilos. I ate grass. I ate cigarettes. I played in the mud. I danced, for so long. I pioneered meth humour. I slept with too many people I don’t like, and kept most of them a secret. I made more friends, though I didn’t need anymore. I grew closer to those who matter, fell out with those who didn’t. I got significantly more dumb. I read a lot of gorgeous books. I only menstruated three times and one of them was most certainly a miscarriage. I didn’t watch many movies. I started drinking coffee again. I learnt to choose happiness, I learnt to be alone. I evolved. I can’t explain any of this the way I want. Everything I put down is merely a ghost of how I felt. Most of all I wish this silly attempt was less ‘I’ and more ‘we’. I hope I don’t feel like that this year.
