we think we’re made of numbers. percentages on tests, pounds on a scale, likes on a photo, price tags on clothes. but we’re not. we are made of love and happiness and they way we laugh. we’re made of good memories and late nights and past-curfews. we have more substance than numbers.
wine tastes so bad. I’m convinced the whole world is in on an inside joke together trying to persuade me that wine tastes good to them. there’s no way any one can like the taste of it. it’s like bug spray. the whole frickin world pretends to like bug spray. I don’t understand why. stop the madness