Thoughts, thoughts, and more thoughts.

Do you ever have those nights where you just lay in bed, declare that you’re not tired, and just sit up on your bed, going, is this really my life? In ways, I think mine is too good, there ought to be a trap. What’s wrong in my life? It’s swell. And then you walk to the mirror going, is this really me? (with an eyebrow raised.) Then you proceed to reassure yourself of your appearance. I usually say to myself, “Is that really you Sarah, in that shirt of varied panda expressions?,” but that’s just me. Then you usually walk back to your bed, surveying the environment of your, habitat, per se. Hit that awe inspirational Katy Perry music and you’re good to go. (Yes, one of her songs is not about kissing another girls lips nor bashing her ex boyfriend.) Then you ask yourself, “Am I going to be that person that changes anything, or makes a difference; what good am I going to do here?” Then you just think about the next few days, what you’re doing, what’s coming up, crucial things. Sometimes I confuse myself while thinking these thoughts, but I don’t know, I’m just me. Do I even write well? No, not really, roffle waffle. I wonder how old I’ll live up to or will I have a freak accident? And you know that vicks thingy? Well, I kind of want to smell it. And I love it when you rest your hand on your tummy and you can feel things, how cool! I think that’s just me being hungry though. Have I ever told you I hate blinds? They’re my worst enemy. And then I wish I had built in camera lenses, so I could have this really cool vision in my head and I see it, so I can snap it right then and there, like a kodak moment but it’s a Sarah moment. Catchy, eh? I have a lot of questions sometimes but they’re kind of weird, and no one out there will give me some valid answers. Sometimes I feel like I have a sour gummy worm filled brain. My feet are ugly, why? Will I ever be as rich as Donald trump? I love questions. Can your stomach digest metal? Meh, I think I’m done. Goodnight you awkward buttholes.