I can beat you at Fictionary.
I can’t understand why anyone would run for enjoyment.
I collect merpeople.
I continue trying to figure out what the fuck to do with my death.
I could write the Great American Novel if I had a good enough idea.
I couldn’t eat garlic unless I wanted to go up in hives.
I don’t believe in natural hair colors.
I doubt the existence of God.
I dream about a fulfilling job.
I drink blood, unfortunately.
I fear my parents finding out.
I feel kind of aimless right now.
I grok Baudelaire.
I hate sexist assholes…also Alzheimer’s.
I have too many books.
I haven’t ever hit anyone.
I hear people’s blood pumping in their veins as they walk by.
I hide the fact that I’m dead.
I like submissive boys and girls.
I listen to the Beatles.
I long to be alive.
I love my grandma!!
I might move back up to Vermont some day.
I misuse air quotes.
I plan to finish the novel some day [really!].
I prefer people who look kind of like David Bowie.
I see in the dark.
I should probably look for another job.
I sleep during the day.
I smell a lot more acutely, now that I’m dead, and boy do most people stink.
I take lollipops from banks when no one’s looking [except the security cameras].
I taste peppermint in the flowing of the wind.
I think way too much.
I use words like weapons.
I want happiness.
I watch the girls go by dressed in their summer clothes; I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.
I will make myself happy somehow.
I write silly lists.