Sitting in bed.
I think I'll finish writing my paper, do some reading for another class, and go to bed. Boom. God, I'm good.
Oh, Facebook. People seem to really like my latest status: "Valentine's Day in two weeks and to celebrate I'm going to hide under my bed til all the pink things go away. Unless I get asked out in which case, I WANT ALL THE PINK THINGS...."
Hmmm... No one has texted me for a while.
Oh a snap chat!
Okay, okay paper time. Pulling up the document. Add title. Boom. Excellente.
Can't concentrate with drunk bitches walking down the street outside my window screaming.
Oh good, they're gone.
They've been replaced by a mysterious tapping from the apartment next to me....
I know she's not having sex, I've been living here for 6 months, she's never had sex.
She must being doing something else, like sometimes my roommate does jumping jacks, she must be doing jumping jacks.
Writing paper, writing paper, writing paper.
It's not sex, it's too quiet to be sex. You're not telling me-- oh God.
That is the moan of a man- a man- who just finished. Oh my God, why am I subjected to that right now.
Jesus Lord, she's giggling right now.
Oh, no, don't talk, please don't talk.
Yeah, giggle and talk about the first sex you've had since I've moved in.
Just in time for Valentine's day, you sly dog.
Yeah, you guys are just having a ball laughing and... Kiera. Stop.
Wait. Blog this and then go write your God damn essay that is due tomorrow.
This is their business and just because you had to listen to it, blogging about it is probably bad form.
Can I make a facebook status about it? "Neighbor having sex. Wait never mind, he came"?
Feels weirder. You're right. Blogging it is.
Welp, here we are.
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