Ugh. Ick. Gross.

I wanted to talk to you.
Kinda.
But you have better things to do.

I won't be speaking to Connor again.
I'll wake up in a panic once more.
I did last night.
But I don't remember my dream.
Perhaps it's better that way.


I miss who you used to be.
Before you were so fake toward me.
Before you hated me.


I sneezed today.
It felt as though half my brain fell out.
Thank you for making me sick.
I'm actually blaming Samantha.
She just HAD to drink my punch.
Whore.


Jaden didn't come home today.
I feel alone.
Even though I spent all day with family.
Serena and Chris were here.


This color reminds me of pea soup.
I felt the need to mention that.


I feel bad.
I put a song on my MySpace for two reasons.
One: I know of a guy that shot himself in his chest.
The song was on his page...
Two: It makes me think about him...
About how he was only 18 for 10 days.
How he was a Christian.
How he was fine at 2:30.
How he'd just gotten home from a church trip...


I want to lay and look at the sky.
Do you want to come with me?
I wish you would...


My cousin Jay got married today.
We didn't go to the wedding.
It was a Mardi Gras wedding.
How gross.


Yesterday was a bad day.
I know why now.
Yesterday was the one year anniversary.
My Great-Grandmother died one year ago yesterday.


Chris started giving me a back massage when he was here.
It felt so good.
The tension was melting away.
Then Serena called him.
Now I'm all tense again.
Give me a back massage?


I'm cold.
I'm shuddering, convulsing.
It's awful.
It's warmer outside.


We're not going to church tomorrow.
Again.
We're not going AGAIN.
Mom doesn't want to get up.
She has to get up early.
Screw her.
That's what naps are for.
I'm pretty sure she gets more sleep than me.


My hands hurt.
I've been chewing my nails too much.
And cracking my knuckles.
Stupid nerves.
Stupid thinking.
When I think I chew my nails.
And right now I'm waging mental war.

"We'll miss you."
"Uh huh."
"You don't believe me."
"Nope. I won't until you believe I love you."
You hurt my feelings.
You make me feel bad.
I think I'm awful.
Why do I talk to you when you make me feel this way?
What is it about you that I can't just forget you?
Oh yeah.
You're you.
And I'm an idiot.

Why can't I stop thinking about that conversation?