Does it matter if they do?

Will they get mad if I tear up this bible and litter the shreds all over the carpet?
Will they get mad if I take the Book of Mormon with me in this laundry bag?
Will they get mad if I knock over this cup of water even though I’m really thirsty?
Will they get mad if I write song lyrics and literature references and draw spiderwebs all over the walls?

What if I do it in ink?

Will they get mad if I eat all of the jello in the fridge but spit most of it out into the trash?
Will they get mad if I sit against the trash can in the kitchen and refuse to move while pretending to cry?
Will they get mad if I crush the graham crackers up in their packages only to later discover how good of an ice cream topping they make?


“Security will come and move you if you don’t get up!”

“I love security guards. Some of my favorite fucking people are security guards.”

“Whatever you say.”



Imagine my disappointment when security never came.

Next time I’ll remember not to clean up after myself.


Will you get mad if we get a bill for all of this that I can’t pay on my own right now?
Will you get mad that I’m still asking you stupid fucking questions?

Will you leave?


Someone called me the “Actress of Life” so I ran with it for a little while. Correction: I pounced on life for a little while.


“During all of it, you were still always so nice” said my sensei one morning in the day room.

If I could do anything differently it would be to have written “it gets better” with a heart on every clipboard I could find.


It really does get better.

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