And your slow, shaking fingertips show that you're scared like me

Oct 16, 2007


THE DAY: Only Tuesday? For cereal?
THE TIME: Eleven-eighteen in the noche.
THE NOISE: Vulnerable--Secondhand Serenade
THE MOMENT: Near comatose on the bed.


This is one of those days. The kind where if you made just the day into a movie would be something like
Simon Birch, where you think it might be good from the beginning and just becomes more and more depressing as it progresses.

School is killing me this week. Obviously it's midterms. Gosh. I kid you not, I'm going to kill someone over my Biology test. I locked myself in my room and studied and studied and I went in and thought I aced it. I was wrong.

I just want to sit and cry and cry. But I can't. I have no tears. I just have sullen eyes fixed intently upon (currently the screen) my review sheets. ...good, better, best....good, better, best...it's creating a sick fixation and sense of inadequacy.

I finished a whole pint of Ben and Jerry's Half Baked Lite (hahah) tonight. In 10 minutes. Not an exaggeration. It's been that great of a day.

The highlight is when Fuko just called and asked if we could coordinate a time to hug tomorrow night. And if I don't see him by tomorrow night he's calling the cops telling them I've gone missing and he's going to break in through my window. Bless that boy forever. He makes me feel like I'm not so invisible.

My patience is waning. I want to scream, "Man up. Honestly." ....I have what Lyndsi calls "man cravings" up the wazoo. It's starting to be a problem.

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