Is this what I want? Maybe, no. No this isn't something I want...its something I am addicted to. I cannot live without it but because of it I can deteriating. I will ceast to exist, six, eight feet under decomposing. Or has technology advanced to the point of predervation at its finest, in Perfection. I love the rush I get. As if the wind is blowing at 502 knots or I've just been shocked by three seprate lighting bolts. I don't know what to expect because its different everytime.
"Jenny? What cha thinking about so hard that your adorable face is in a scrunge?" Max comes over and tickles me.
"You babe. You."
