like more than a friend.

Posts tagged clips for that book i’m supposed to write

as of today, i’ve been here for 6 months. i’m writing this down and because, much like my dad, if i don’t write things down they might as well never happened. it also feels really good to acknowledge all of the choices and changes and miles and minutes and giant leaps and incremental steps and you’re so brave’s and i never thought you’d leave’s and how does this work’s and what the fucking fuck’s and do you have a car’s and where do you live’s and yes yes okay’s and no no not anymore’s that took place between “back then” and “right now.” no judgments, no conclusions … just written and confirmed:

this happened.

i took a deep breath
and listened to
the old bray of my heart.
i am. i am. i am.

sylvia plath

september was hard. i got back from switzerland and suddenly found myself refreshingly busy at work, but also entangled in nebulous work politics that left me feeling unsure of my instincts and hesitant in my choices and – this is where things started to unravel – slow to stand up for myself. the stress and anxiety swirled, the sound of an old friend’s voice brought me to tears, and i quietly wondered what i was even doing here. it’s funny. in new york i could only handle 48 hours of feeling weird and uncomfortable before i had to do something about it. in portland? weeks, nearly a month. maybe new york really is faster than portland. maybe new york is already at capacity when it comes to weird and uncomfortable. maybe there’s no difference or reason or rulebook and life is whatever the fuck it is and sometimes things are just hard a little longer than the last time they were hard. okay. so september sucked. so what? when i was ready, i took a deep breath and trusted my instincts and wore a lot of black and put on heels and blasted beyoncé and made it abundantly clear to myself and others:

i am. i am. i am.

vagary, n.

the mistake is thinking
there can be an antidote
to the uncertainty.

david levithan

back in february i chose “go through it” as my 3 word thesis for 2015 (full breakdown of my previous 3 word theses here) and maybe this is one of those “ugh shut up this horoscope could vaguely apply to anyone” eye roll inducing coincidences, but “go through it” has been a really on point personal compass for me. i started thinking about it this morning and realized i’ve gone through a lot of very real [late late 20-something] life shit since february:

negotiating my worth
letting go of new york
packing up my life
moving two thousand miles away
finding a new apartment
dating long distancing
breaking up long distance
producing long distance
forming new and meaningful friendships
feeling lost, obnoxious, alone
feeling smart, strong, capable
feeling nothing, something, everything

i get asked uhhhhlot whether i (a) love it here (b) miss new york. i think people really want to hear (a) yes! (b) no!, but neither of those answers feel totally right and i have absolutely no poker face when it comes to my personal life (or filter … sorry family). every time i meet someone new i brace myself for the inquiry and when it inevitably comes up i end up rambling emo-laden nonsense for 15 minutes until something along the lines of “ummm i don’t know i’m ok” blubbers out. the truth is, i can’t answer these questions because i’m not done yet.

i’m going through it.

it’s such a
being always

langston hughes, “ennui”

i’m super broke right now and thought i was depressed due to said super broke-ness, but then i found the new chet faker feat. banks and decided i’m not depressed. i’m just experiencing a temporary lack of funds combined with a temporary lack of good new tunes to put on repeat while i try not to buy anything, ever.

update → i just saw a corgi.
so maybe everything’s all right?
idk. you tell me, universe.


ps – if you’re feeling like throwing money at something, i will happily be your something. $5-$5000. i can untangle your cords. i’d love to untangle your cords.

my first 4 days at work were wonderful. as expected, first names didn’t stick and the place isn’t perfect, but i walked home everyday with a genuine feeling that i belonged and the terrible horrible no good very bad heartache of leaving and accepting 10,000 changes into my life (me = taurus, change = kryptonite) would soon be worth it. then, friday rolled around and everyone started to clear out early for the weekend and this foreign feeling of dread came over me as i realized i’d be spending mine alone. suddenly, “i belong” became “i’m alone” and, before i knew it, tears were welling up at 5pm on a friday on my 5th day of work.

so soon?

thankfully, i was intercepted by a divine messenger coworker who was coming over to tell me she was also from indiana (my “about me” bio had just gone out to the entire agency … le sigh) and the second she saw me fighting back tears she knew exactly what was up and pulled me into a nearby conference room. she was kind and didn’t judge me for crying on my 5th day and made me feel better and gave me her cell and suggested we hang out. she said in a few months i’d look back on this day and laugh which reminded me of dan and jay, the two people who kept me laughing when i was knee deep in tragedy.

actual tragedy.
terrible tragedy.
which this was just … not.

so i packed up my things and walked home from my first week feeling both like i belonged and made the right decision but also like i was fucking uncomfortable and sad and lonely. the next morning, i did what i always do when i feel weird for more than 24hrs: something about it. i went to yoga and got coffee and installed a cable modem and texted some friends of friends i was e-introduced to (plus one i made on my own!) to say “hi how are you i’d love to hang out.” within a few hours, i had dinner plans and an art opening to attend and – well, whaddyaknow – i didn’t feel so fucking uncomfortable anymore.

fast forward.

a little bummed and uninspired, less confident and clear than i’m used to. i’m stuck in my head and waiting for a sign instead of printing my own. at least i don’t need people telling me you’re okay, it’s okay, we’re okay. heaviness happens, lightness returns. i just really want to get there already (probably why i walk so fucking fast). granted, not updating this thing isn’t helping so that’s one shift i can make. did make.

chloe: i just saw 826 is doing scrabble for cheaters on may 3rd. maybe we should get a team together.
me: oooooooooo i’m down.
chloe: we should ask anders, too. he’d be seriously brilliant.
me: that is an excellent call.
chloe: on it.

[a few minutes later]

chloe: anders is in.
me: huzzah!
chloe: who would you like to ask? i could also ask my roomie. she’s cool. she works for the atlantic wire. you’d like her.
me: i’d ask my friend amy who is vvv clever and wise (not talking about myself, i have another friend named amy).

[a few minutes later]

me: it sounds like you can only have teams of two …
chloe: oops.
me: ok i think you and anders should be a team because you will kick total f-ing ass and, to be totally honest, i’m actually really bad at scrabble : (
chloe: isn’t that the point? bad player = great cheater.
me: i guess. either way, you must beat peter dinklage!

[a few minutes later]

me: well, i’m happy to be your teammate OR root for you and anders. the choice is yours.
chloe: oh no. this is like sophie’s choice. only different. and with fewer nazis.
me: does anders know there’s a $50 registration fee per team member? does chloe know?
chloe: i think i’ve made it clear that i know the least about this event of everyone.

to be continued …

get this money
me: when do you take your pill?
her: morning, but i’ve always taken meds in the morning, since probably high school, so it wasn’t weird for me to learn to take a pill and keep that routine. but other people set an alarm for themselves at the same time every day which is awkward when that time is 7pm in the middle of a brooklyn brainery class, for instance.
me: i was thinking 4pm was safe. i’ll be up, i won’t be at the gym, not too late to disrupt a night out. wait … have you been in a brooklyn brainery class where someone took their birth control?
her: i have been in class with that same woman. twice.

i recently discovered that the lobby of the greenwich hotel (as well as the lobby of really any boutique downtown hotel worth its weight in distracted, disinterested, too cool for school let alone giving any fucks whether or not you “belong” there strategic foolery) is actually just an extremely tidy public living room with impeccable ambience, complimentary newspapers, and password-less wifi. pro tip = enter through locanda verde, act like you own the place, park it on some velvet, people watch to infinity, eavesdrop and beyond.

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yesterday, amy and i (not talking in multiple persons, i have a real life friend named amy who is also smart and funny and resourceful and good at life etc.) took the day off because we both still have lingering vacation days we’re required to take before christmas (xoxo, hr). anyway, in order to maximize a mandatory one day of fun-ness, we did what all tightly wound slash totally game and adventurous women do … we planned.

1. am coffee tawking @ blue bottle
2. brooklyn brunching @ egg
3. aggressive sampling @ mast brothers
4. sketchbook browsing @ brooklyn art library
5. midtown snacking @ little collins
6. big piano playing @ fao schwarz
7. out nerding @ museum of the city of new york

the result was
f l a w l e s s .

british male intern: amy, who’s your celebrity crush?
me: jeff goldblum in independence day right after he and will smith blow up the mothership and they walk side by side through the desert smoking cuban cigars while their women run at them. oh, or ryan gosling at the 2005 mtv movie awards when he and rachel mcadams win best kiss and they reenact the whole thing except this time he grabs her hair a little bit. why? who’s yours?
bmi: the girl from inglorious bastards [googles mélanie laurent].
me: oh, you like baliens.
bmi: baliens?
me: yea, baby aliens.
bmi: what? what is that? a person who looks like a baby and an alien?
me: no, a person who looks like a baby alien. whispy hair, soft face, eyes for days.
bmi: show me another so i know what you’re talking about.
me: [googles amanda seyfried].
bmi: mmmmm yes. oh, she’s quite nice.
me: yep. your type is definitely balien.

pink sky
marry me
i don’t think i’ve ever been on a date where the other person didn’t ask me, “what? what is that? what are you thinking about?” not a huuuuuuge surprise since i make direct eye contact no matter what even when my mind wanders off to planet marsh and the 7-10 things i’m daydreaming about instantly coalesce on top of my [now entirely unreadable] face. i usually try to come up with some sort of “yeaiguessthatmakessense” response, but in the spirit of dating up and honesty and niceness and not giving a shit and doing me and just fucking going for it, my no bullshit response this very second would be:

1. woah woah wow. thanksgiving is, like, tomorrow.
2. will i ever make more $$ w/o being chained to my computerphone miserable?
3. we found love = still wonderful, still don’t give a fuck who i smack danceable.
4. i can’t remember the last book i read. wtfwasit? no. srsly. wtf.
5. ashley and jack black are so right. sometimes you gotta let the led out.
6. if time warner doesn’t fix my internet on thurs, i am out of solutions.
7. grow, marpar, grow. grow the damn thing. good lord they’re adorbs.
8. omg robyn meyer-flay needs to start a video blog right right now.
9. drinking 3 liters of water a day is turning out to be a √+ life decision.
10. bonus points for successfully dressing for the weather.

i put the or in work
a creative director walks into the empty conference room i’m sitting in.

cd: they’re in the process of canceling the meeting because the client can’t make it.
me: oh, well. that’s interesting. good to know. thanks for the heads up.
cd: but, you sitting in here, all by yourself, with all this white and your white shirt against the orange … it’s working for you … you look very … important.


wonder woman
cat woman
when people tell you
something’s wrong
or doesn’t work for them,
they are almost always right.

when they tell you
exactly what they think is wrong
and how to fix it,
they are almost always →

neil gaiman

the illustrations above are from a nsfw(ish) series by grégoire guillemin called the secret life of heroes. of course, i found grégoire’s series just as the office maildude decided to drop a package off at my desk. of course, i was stuck on the one of superwoman deep throating a banana (of course). in other news, my coral plimsoll sneakers arrived.

perfect timing.

him: hey, it was great meeting you on saturday night. hope the rest of your evening was great. let me know if you’re up for a drink in the coming weeks.

me: hey! if you’re funny and kind and quick and witty and have a place in mind that you’ve always wanted to try (or re-try), i’m definitely up for a drink in the coming weeks. if you’re undecided and insecure and not into planning or having nyc adventures, i’m busy forever.

{radio silence}.

you are a prisoner
1...whatever your walking pace is, speed it up by 20%. if you need to stop, step out of the way.
2...pedestrians run the show so cross like a boss, whether or not you have the right of way.
3...get your metrocard out ahead of time, black strip facing inwards. swipe it like an amex. york is really fucking expensive and we don’t talk about it so … try not to talk about it.
5...talking about your broker’s fee or how much you pay in rent, however, is totally acceptable. smart / weather appropriate clothes that make you feel smart / weather appropriate. things by yourself as much as possible even if you have a +1 or already know people.
8...i’m serious. go to restaurants by yourself. wander around by yourself. get lost by yourself.
9...make personal business cards. no … not shitty ones. nice ones. heavy ones. letterpress.
10...fold your pizza.

what is done in the darkness
at the cliff
“people are always saying you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster. like you know what it is even. but every so often i’ll have, like, a moment, where just being myself in my life right where i am is, like, enough.” – my so-called life

i turned 27 today
and my only plan is
to take parker‘s 7:30 ride
and force everyone to wear
100 party city glow bracelets
cause right where i am
is, like, enough.

let's pretend
water works
the other day i made a spotify playlist of all the albums that got me to and from some of my worst “i don’t want to tell you what i do because i hate what i do and, like, earlier today i was so fed up with my passive agressive co-workers and bullshit work duties that i tossed my blackberry in the sad little trash next to my desk and hoped no one suspected dumpster diving when i fished it out a few minutes later after remembering i needed to pay rent and shit” dayjobs. it’s called worksux.

what’s on your playlist?
don’t be a stranger.
lemme know.

for the record,
work does not suck.
not anymore, that is.
not one bit.

guys! my home state personalized return address stamp finally arrived and i lurrrrrve it. obvs my first instinct was to show you a picture of what it looks like and stuff, buuuuuuuut then i realized that would be voluntarily sharing my exact new york city home address with the entire world wide google-able internet so i’m going to try something new and … undershare.

ed. this post was sponsored in part by the foundation for not fucking it up.

sooOOOooo, as it turns out …
this actually works really well.
officially, i’m going to be:

amy ruth marsh,
associate interactive producer
jwt digital production team.

obvs i’ll let you know
when i officially figure out
what that actually means …

the end.
just kidding.
the beginning.


ps – today is my first day and right now i’m either in orientation or trying to procure something healthy + delicious to eat in midtown. if i am still in orientation, i swear i’m paying attention (i drafted this post last saturday). aaaaanywho, like ya do during ye old werewolf bar mitzvah new job honeymoons, posting throughout the next two weeks or so might be a little lighter than usual. take a lap. i’llllllllllll be right baaaaaaack.

throwing shade
this week, i’ve been trying to assess which of my toiletries and cosmetics are more than half empty because next week is gonna be crayzay and i just like to preemtively replace shit (you know, instead of waiting until the last minute when i can’t even shaken baby syndrome a single drop of conditioner and i have to hit up 2 different sephoras, bloomingdales, space.nk.apothecary, duane reade, ride aid, walgreens, and ricky’s all in one fucking day just to replace the essentials). for the record, i also like to make my bed every morning, keep no more than 5 emails in my personal inbox, follow exactly 100 people on twitter, and balance my checkbook whenever i use my debit card no matter how small the purchase so, like … DON’T WORRY ABOUT TELLING ME HOW TYPE-AMAZING I AM BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW. aaaaaaanyway, the point of this story is that i had to take special note of the colors and shades of the various products i use and i think, together, they paint a pretty accurate personality picture:

penny lane
turning heads red
no poo
low poo
silver factory

honey raven penny lane addictive?
turning heads red no poo alaska intensa?
low poo silver factory lollipop flirt?

spooookyaccurate, no?
theeeeese are mine!

geology tat
geology tat2
back in november, i decided to do some major gmail maintenance (i had been using abby728 as a login and amyruthmarsh as an alias for about 5 years, but with the purchase of my 1st iphone and the prospect of having to click “send as” every time i wanted to email someone, i decided it was time to let go of abby728 and port everything over to amyruthmarsh). usually, i love these kind of internet time sucks, but i had actively avoided this one in particular because i knew it was going to be such a fucking pain in the ass. i mean, going through 40,000 archived emails (i love gmail, i’m an agressive archiver, i never delete anything, and i had ported all of my college webmail into abby728 before graduating) as well as my entire on the record chat history was not even my twisted idea of fun.

up until this point, i had only imagined how annoying it would be, technically. like, “ugh, copying and pasting and labeling and saving and exporting and importing all of this shit via some super unreliable mail client? life sux.” but the spectrum of terrible widened pretty quickly after i got started and realized every moment of my legal adult life – the good, the bad, the great, the terrible, the awful, the hilarious, the insignificant, the momentous, the honest, the dishonest, the judgmental, the unconditional … everything – had been recorded and stored in the catacombs of this ill-chosen email address. this wasn’t just going to be a painful project, technically. this was going to be a painful project, late night at the holocaust museum emotionally.

sometimes, the emails made me cry (like the ones from my dad i never responded to). sometimes, i didn’t recognize the sound of my own voice (like the ones to my improv troupe a few weeks after i started college). sometimes, i was impressed by my courage (like the ones to a more than a friend asking him to reflect on our relationship and be honest about his feelings and actions). the transfer took about a week to complete and when it was all over, when every email had been absorbed and unarchived and accounted for, i felt totally wrecked. but. but! i also felt totally alive. like … fuck yea! the things i’ve experienced still effect me! i actively participate in the fabric of my life! i’m emotionally capable of getting myself to tomorrow! i’m upset right now! i’m a human being!


ps – i also have a theory about 20-something tectonics and think this tattoo and i are b’shert.

yesterday will be better
a very, very good friend of mine just lost one of her parents and, knowing a fair bit about my history, asked for some “grief tips.” this is what i told her:

1...everything changed when patrick told me, “amy, you get a pass … take the pass.” right now, you don’t need to apologize for feeling angry or hurt or frustrated or happy or unstable or delirious or whateverthefuck you’re feeling. you get a pass. TAKE the pass.
2...we – your friends, your family, your given support system, your chosen support system – we’re all here for you no matter what.’s okay to laugh cause, like, this one time jay judah made a joke on the way into my dad’s funeral and when i laughed i realized it was the first time i had felt like myself in 3 days.

then i texted her this.

flappers drink bootleg alcohol in unison
i’ve recently discovered i can only hang out with groups of peripheral acquaintances i don’t know very well (or care about very much) for roughly 1-2 hours before i desperately want to stop small talking and run away to be by myself for a while. when i first moved to new york, i used to rock the fuck out of these kind of bright awkward social situations by finding my way to the boistrous weirdos who liked to laugh and dance till we made the walls sweat.


i just don’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now. for any kind of crap, really. i mean, not to be that marble-less crayyyzay lady who reads her horoscope everyday and thinks it makes a pretty good point, but … like … all my shit’s in retrograde. basically, i’m not supposed to call, email, text, or broker any business deals until july and one or more of my electronic devices is going to have a tech tantrum and corrupt itself (hashtag … fantastic).


despite impending smartphone fails and the fact that all the things i want the most feel like fuzzy faraways in someone else’s near future, i’ve been trying to convince myself that so long as i keep searching and writing and asking and fighting, there’s probably, mayyyyybe, sorta definitely a good chance everything will work out just fine. you know, like that one show i still haven’t started watching yet says:

clear eyes.
full hearts.
can’t lose.

nice work
okay, i have an announcement. i’m officially over all this micro self help short listing. like, when did we all become soooo unequipped? soooo incapable? soooo unable …

to grow a pair?
to tough it out?
to do the thing?

is it because we’re in the double digit teenage years of the aughts?
because we’re no longer that asexually unaware 2012 in gapkid overalls?
because we’ve sprouted 2013 breasts and caught a nasty case of insecurity?
because i hate you! it does matter! i want to die in my room alooooooone!

okay fine.

if this is the year of our incredible internet bar mitzvah,
i’m skipping the all too lame friday night saturday morning services.
y’all sound the same and i just don’t give enough fucks.
my advice?

shut up and give me glow sticks so i can daaaaaance.

we shall be strong in our weakness
you may have to go through the wringer
last week, i let a beautiful woman at space.nk convince me to buy a beautiful opaque lip stain by hourglass. i got it because it comes in “raven” which is my favorite superfuckingbold shade of orange-y red (love) aaaaaaand because it dries so fast it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing lipstick after initial application (also, love). unfortunately, these two powers combined have turned off that part of my brain that understands if i put this on and then settle into a thumb under chin, fist over lips, lady on her laptop thinking pose a few hours later, i will smear a superfuckingbold shade of orange-y red opaque lip stain all over my face.

this happens mostly in public.

i miss those days
i like you
me: yentas! i have a 1st date question & need a straight dude’s perspective.
jj: [ … straight dude radio silence … ]
pg: [ … straight dude radio silence … ]
me: is it rude to wear red lipstick? like, it won’t come off as “oh, hello. i’m a hipster pain in the ass who’s gonna make it semi-difficult to nearly impossible for you to kiss me?” i just want to be sensibly sexy plus it would really put the period on the end of my black & white 1st date outfit sentence.
jj: i don’t think it’s rude. i think it’s probably actually totally sexy. like, “hey, new guy. i bet you can’t stop looking at my lips.”
pg: totally not rude! & if it happened, who wouldn’t want to show off a smooch from you?
jj: since when is lipstick prohibitive to kissing?
me: woah.

probably actually totally sexy … ?
NOT prohibitive to kissing … ?
waaaa waaaa weeee wah … ?

take good notes.

this shit will definitely be on the final.

last night, after spending 45 super intense minutes with taye (or, as she likes to call it, “tayetime”), i stopped by angelica kitchen to pick up something healthy for dinner (or, as simon doonan likes to call it, “lesbian take out”). my order took longer than i expected and i realized mid-way through my walk home that the halftime show was definitely going to start before i got back to my apartment. since there was NO FUCKING WAY i was going miss even a small part of this and get downsized to a janky, post-stream recording hours later, i decided to pop into the first place i saw that had both the game and the sound on. aaaaaaaaaand that, my friends, is how i ended up openly crying in a laundromat on 1st ave and 11th st.

granted, my tears were caused mostly by joy, respect, awe, and straight up exhaustion through osmosis, it was still a little bit sad / embarrassing all the same. after about 15 minutes of sheer holy shit wtf no she didn’t-ness, sasha fierce did her signature knees up, floorward back bend and concluded the greatest fucking halftime show this nation has ever known. just then, one of the filipino laundromat owners rolled by with a shopping cart full of wash and fold deliveries and noticed that everyone in his shop was open mouth staring at the television. he stopped for a second and looked up at the screen. then he looked over at me (crying). then up at the screen (halftime). then over at me (still crying). then up at the screen (still halftime). suddenly, his eyes got really wide and he said …


17th December 1934: American actress Jean Harlow on the set of the MGM musical melodrama 'Reckless' with director Victor Fleming and co-star William Powell. (Photo by Virgil Apger)
guys, pls stop asking me out on a date
and then asking me to fucking plan it.


did you put in a little effort?
did you suggest a half-decent bar?
congrats! your odds just increased →


why? because it tells me that you are capable and decisive and creative and adventurous and smart and assertive and just fucking old enough to know better than to make me listen to you talk about your extended birthright trip in some lackluster bar that has the lights turned up to asshole. let me be clear. if you cannot suggest a good first date spot, asking me to suggest one for you will just delay the inevitable.


google someone who doesn’t care.
your money’s no good here.

you hurted me pretty bad
“it’s the sense of touch. in any real city, you walk, you know? you brush past people, people bump into you … nobody touches you. we’re always behind this metal and glass. i think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.”

crash (2004)

this movie came out when i was a freshman in college and a lot of my newly acquired, ivy-envious social circle thought it was a terrible film. i’m pretty sure, after vocalizing their massive distaste to the group, they had little difficulty forgetting it was ever made. i, however, remember liking it a lot, if only for don cheadle’s opening line. brushing and bumping and not touching and crashing? it’s been like [pause, calculating] 8.5 years since this movie was released [pause, “holy shit. it’s been 8.5 years? seriously?”] and i’m still quoting it. c’mon. don’t be like that. this line is gorgeous! it’s about aggressive loneliness. and cruel disconnectedness. and like … having feelingz.

i have all the feelingz.
also, sandra bullock.

week 11
story tiiiiiiime. so, as you may or may not know, i grew up in michiana (a classy place named after classy radio personalities who didn’t feel like taking five extra seconds to distinguish between michigan and northern indiana during weekly broadcasts). basically, it was a REALLY small town and a REALLY big deal when friday’s, chili’s, AND barnes & noble all opened up at the exact same time on top of neighboring cornfields in the middle of mishawaka (another classy place named after a native american princess who got stabbed in the boob). wow, wikipedia. just. wow. aaaaanyway, when the time came for my older sister to consider her part-time high school job options, she wisely choose books and newspapers over lukewarm queso and suspender flair. 5 years later, i was more than happy to cash in on the nepotism and opted for the same. let the record reflect, i LOVED working at barnes & noble. the in-store cafe was 50% off, i made a KILLING during christmas (#jewishhhh), and they paid me to wear the six flags clifford couture.

yes, kids.
mama was a staaaaaar.

maybe it’s good that i’m tossing, turning.
maybe i need this to be difficult.
maybe i need this to have holes.
to be … [don’t] …  [don’t say it] …


and stressful.
and exaggerated.
and over thought.

maybe it’s time for me to roll around in my sleep for something.

so if it works out,
if i end up getting it,
i’ll know that i wanted it.
that i actually wanted it.

and i’ll go in there.
i’ll go in there everyday.
kicking so much ass.
just to fucking keep it.