Marilyn Monroe strawberry cake.

Nothing like feeling like a complete failure to get the shame coursing ruthlessly through your veins. i would say that it makes you feel alive, but there is a deadness there too. Here i am sitting alone on a Saturday night with a ridiculously decorated cake in the fridge and all i want to do is go and smash it on the sidewalk. When you are so depressed that you sleep until 11:00 and then spend hours baking and procrastinating until no one wants to come pick you up anymore, what else can you do? Write a self-indulgent blog post just to feel even more ridiculous. If anyone even reads this, i sincerely hope that there is some measure of scorn felt so as to mirror mine. Hopefully one day i will be a normal fucking person and cease to be a prisoner to this apartment, and my mind. That's something to hope for, at least.