I had another draft from last week that I had been working but never posted it. Maybe I will eventually, tonight’s theme, self-loathing and fear in Vegas. Instagram hates me and my guts, facebook as well. I loathe the times whenever I load up either apps on my phone because I know what both of these algorithmic scumbag apps are going to show me. Posts and pictures of and from my ex-girlfriend. I hate the word ex though. It’s such an ugly word because I don’t want to consider her an ex. Maybe I’m just hopefully hopeless and the post-consumed drinks in my stomach like to make me feel lesser than but these fucking apps hate my guts because every time I open them, literally at the top of my feed, the first thing I fucking see is a selfie of my ex. Way to punch me in the fucking gut, instagram. Seriously fuck you Instagram, Fuck you Mark Zuckerfuck. The last thing I want to see is my ex to remind me of how much I miss her. Fuck, there’s that word again. Ex. Ex, example, exaggerate, exacerbate. But I think I’m just at the point I’ve had too much to drink and I shouldn’t be blogging my thoughts out loud because a drunken mind tends to spin webs of truth that we often get tangled up in. So it’s just another day I have to go on living, like everything is fine, like I’m alright, like I don’t hate myself like I have been this past semester as school and keep this silly, little stupid, facade and smile on my face. First drafts are always the worst kind of draft because there are often so many errors, revisions and things expressed which at the time of writing are non-sensical due to the nature that you’re just trying to get your ideas and thoughts out as first as you can before forgetting them. Things will be said that you didn’t really mean and wonder why you wrote it in the first place.