Otherwise known as the BMS (Big Mouth Syndrome) , I often get the gritty taste of what should be on the floor, in my facial cavity which sometimes seems to have a mind of its own (attached to Elliot Reed i think) .
Age, kind friends, and not-so-kind friends, have taught me to control that string from my favorably disposed brain. BUT (haha, there's always that clause, no? ) that seems to have unhealthy repercussions /
Age, kind friends, and not-so-kind friends, have taught me to control that string from my favorably disposed brain. BUT (haha, there's always that clause, no? ) that seems to have unhealthy repercussions /
Let me explain. I used to spew into my diary with my Super Thought-to-Word converter , verbal diarrhea. Over time and computers, my finger muscles work-out in different angles, and writing (a lot) appears as scribbling. (My handwriting IS NOT that bad, it's just that some don't have the eye for it, not my fault, is it? ) . The piled-up congealed drama in my head needs an outlet - or else i'll my precious brain cells could get seriously injured. We don't want that , do we? I mean,
It would totally affect my social life.
So Miss Outburp (like you can't control burps sometimes, it's either out loud or muted, but it gets out) , says you don't have to read my stuff if you don't want to, but if you do, don't be offended, i will try my best to change names for privacy. Hey, what the heck! that would revert back to clogged thoughts! Ok, I'll code them out.
Conclusion, as every shrink would prescribe , vent it out!
N.B. One of the lines above is the disclaimer.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.psalm 139. 14
love you anna
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