Dear Mom and Dad
These past few days have been lovely.
I got to hang out with actual people. I fell in love with Oscar Wilde and his writing, and can't keep my eyes off The Picture of Dorian Gray. I ate ice cream and shitty junk food, bought a vintage 70s-ish fall shirt for $6. Rode horses (and still will be tomorrow and Tuesday). Got work done.
and then you go and you screw it all up. it's ok to tell me these things can't happen. i wont ever go to Oxford University (or any Ivies either), and i won't be going to California this summer after all.
It's ok, i understand money. i get that no means no.
JUST DON'T KEEP FUCKING WITH ME AND TELLING ME THAT THINGS WILL WORK OUT AND THEN SHOOT IT ALL DOWN RIGHT IN MY FACE.
i'm sick of it all. it's driving me fucking nuts. i'm so bored of being sickened by it, and i'm sick of hope.
the end. peace & lotsa love
EDIT: wtf. now they're saying i CAN go to California. im fucking sick of playing this game. im done. gnight.