i'm not trying to rebel, i just have a mean streak
something that needs wiping out
or letting out
hold on? let go? i smile at the fact i only know that tomorrow i'll be in another place.
it's like i want to freeze frame right now, and move on, then look back.
it'll either be laughable at how ridiculous i am, or be proven true and be a history.
rebelliousness has been my game, but i've been benched lately.
and by lately, i mean two years.
from across the ballroom, Reginald and Lady Gwendolyn stare me down.
aristocrats of the worst breed. they don't just act better than everyone, namely me, but
they've made it a point to come across, during the music, and tell me.
tell me that i've worn my heart on my sleeve. tell me that my sputtering car needs to be destroyed,
along with my books and journals. you see, i have become the only one in 1912 England with
a blog. this gives me an out, that wont be out for at least ninety years. suuuuuucks.
they're snobs, i hate em. oh hey, wake up!
so it was more of an unjust rebuke? no. an observation, because i've done nothing wrong.
does a socialite have a verbal stigma? i even run my mouth more than i should.
a good lesson in shutting up.
"hold your tongue Jeffery."
"yes, Mum. sorry Mum"
i feel like i keep saying that to everyone
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