Oh I Am Such A Fickle Mess

I Am Such A Fickle Mess

On again and off again. 
Running away and then headlong in.
I hate you.
I love you.
No stop. Please never go away.
I am such a fickle mess
I would never undress
Unless you told me
You would never like to see me again
I would pretend to hate you
Then despise you
Then we would be back in bed again
Yes I am such a fickle mess.

… something like that anyway.  That’s my attempt at Morrissey lyrics to the tune of me getting back on Twitter because I realize now that, while terrible for truly social interactions, it’s wonderful for sending random, snarky messages into the ether. 

Still, I need to not settle for the instant gratification of the 120-character message.  I need to exercise my abilities in the longer form.  Writing on Twitter is just the echoes of a flash in the brain where a sentiment is formed, crystallized and then shed into the electronic sphere.  Who reads this stuff?  Ugh.  Who knows?

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