Mind the gap.

23 March 2004

I come on here ready to apologise to everyone for everything; ready to ask if it's horrible that I'm mad at one of my friends but wouldn't know how to explain why to her even if she knew (which she doesn't, and no it's not you or you); ready to ramble on about maths testing or SAT fucking class or the impending Spanish Honour Society interview or the books I'm reading/going to read or whatever other pointless crap I was going to say... but then I have to go and read this or that and get all upset and angry and shit and I'm so sick of it and I'm sick of complaining on here and making you all read my shit and sick of crying in my room all the time and getting upset over these things (why does it all bother me so much) and sick of having to find out everything secondhand, thinking one thing til I read something else to explain it FUCKING SICK OF IT and don't even try to say anything because I don't care (just ignore me please); I won't send you the postcard I wrote last night feeling sorry for the way I was acting I'm sorry I can't do it.

Damn me, I fucking deserve it.

Not even worthy of a name stopped here at 10:20 p.m.

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