| i still like you a lot
and i hope i'll be able to say i love you with full meaning
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| Game 1
X 7 2 9 - X 7 2 X X 7 / X 6/X
19 28 37 56 65 92 112 132 152 172 172
Game 2
9 - 8 / X X X 9 - X 9 - 9 / 9 -
9 29 59 88 107 116 135 144 163 172 172
i've really enjoyed the rain.
among other things also.
word of the summer: "whatever"
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| alright.
hoping and wishing does no good. duh
just drop it and kick it all out of your system.
you are alone
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| Obviously I'm PMSing again because I only write in this thing every once in a while. You know, feeling emotional, cramps. blah blah blah. Tomorrow's my government test.
Today was my birthday.
Ignoring the fact that all my fun came the couple days leading up to my birthday, today was probably the most ordinary day imaginable. With the knowledge that today would be an empty day, I knew I would have get by with what I would call "on-the-surface" pleasures. First, I broke my own facebook embargo to display my birthday so I could get tons of messages from people who don't actually give a crap about me. I was delighted. Secondly, everyone I talked to today; I told them today was my birthday.
Mothers know their children.
She was asleep when I got home last night. In the morning she saw the gifts and Georgie in my hand. What's that doggie [Georgie] doing here, are you guys not talking again? she said in chinese. I was bewildered. Is it possible that she once had "beaver" love with a close friend when she was younger? Or maybe she's a sorceress.
She got me a 90 dollar Fila sports jacket. Do you like it? No no return
it I said. She got it for 24 dollars. Yah I like it. My aunt brought a
whole bunch of clothes for me. She knew exactly which ones I would
like. My aunt said, mothers know their children.
I'm cried out.
Driving down belt line on my way home with Georgie snuggled in my lap, it hit me.
I can understand why someone would cut themself. I don't cut myself, and blood does not flow. I cry. My eyes water, and tears slowly inch down my cheek. If only. I moan, scream, soak my shirt in snot, and I wipe my face with my hand like I don't give a shit. This little charade is accompanied by intense emotional pain. The weird thing is that it often happens when I'm driving. Oddly enough, I choose to let this act occur, and I choose to let myself feel all this until "I'm cried out."
By the time I got home, everything was fine.
I'm 6 years old again.
How can this little rascal mean so much to me. Why do I bring him up to my face every 10 seconds. How is it possible that he can enjoy doing something with me. Alright, I'm letting myself feel this way for two more days. It's fun to be 6 years old again.
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