(Untitled)
WOOOT WHO FUCKING SUCKS AT LIFE>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
yay....another attempt and totally and utterly failed!! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
yay....another attempt and totally and utterly failed!! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also, I miss you. And I'm calling you and stealing you tomorrow night. (Can anyone say my dad's taking me to Joe's?) ps - I love you.
I dunno why I put a ps in the middle of this, considering I usually babble for forever.
So. I'm going to tell you a story about a girl with PSS. It started about a week ago. Its symptoms include irrationality, anger, mood swings, more irrationality, paralysis about the future, paralysis about relationships, paralysis about anything that is not hiding under her desk, insomnia that now beats out the sleeping pills, and leads to slef-medication by sugar and caffiene because if she has lots and lots of energy it tends to shut off the part of her brain that is...okay, it shuts off the whole brain. Spleen. Whatever. So what does PSS stand for, other than something you see in a long string on the bottom of a letter written by a second-grader/me? Pre-Summer Syndrome. Seeing as you, y'know, know me and all, you are probably aware that I have a long string of failures (damnit, her. she has a long string of failures. Stupid third/second/eighteenth/notfirst-person structure) all occurring or relating to summertime. This year would, in dreamworld, break that trend. In hyper-pessimistic world, it will not only continue the trend, but set the stakes much higher for the summer before college.
What was the moral of that story? I -don't know.- I'm not sure it even qualified as a story, since it had no defineable beginning, middle, or end, or climax, or falling action, or rising action, or...this counts as prepping for the SATs, right?
I love you. And you do not fail at life, by any stretch of the imagination. You will go wherever your feet and talents (and if you say you have none I will find you and slap you! Not hard though. :) ) take you.
Guess what? I'm getting up in 6 hours! And totally not hijacking my father, his car, and his wallet and stopping at starbucks and buying another banana coconut frappe that is not the first drink that has coffee in it that I will consume in large quantities I swear. DAMNIT BELIEVE ME.
Okay, now I'm going to tell you the story of the Great Jean Debacle of Memorial Day '06. Alyssa and Mother went to the mall with the idea of buying jeans for Alyssa. Alyssa is a girl who does not appreciate all the pre-ripped pre-stained pre-horrible-ized crap going on in "fashion" these days. She is quite capable of destroying her own jeans, thank you very much. She went to every story fathomable in the mall, and did not find a single pair of non-horrible-ized jeans in her size (they only came in 17s and 0s.) She then dragged her mother to starbucks and abused her wallet by ordering a frappucino- she was adventurous and tried the new flavor because it had the word COCONUT in it. She tried it, and found it contained coffee. (I...she...maintains that the advertizing was misleading.) She also finished the entire thing while dragging her mother up to victoria's secret and continuing in her pattern of wallet abuse.
You've probably already heard parts of that story, except the whole coffee part. I'm trying to keep it on the down-low (or the DL as certain gangsta ho friends of ours might say...ahaha.) No one must know about these new and strange developments. Therefore I am posting this on a probably-public lj post and swearing all who read it to secrecy. (Although the length of my comments tends to dissuade reading by...anyone. :D)
Wow. I'm going to go before this thing tells me my comment is too long. It probably already is, oops. I LOVE YOU <3
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