. . .
I want new meds. These ones make me puke.
I was brushing my teeth after just hurling and found out that I had to again. So I went for the toilet and ended up hitting my head on the wall. Everywhere. I cleaned it up--best as I could. Took me a while to realize what the pink grapefruit cells were--lettuce covered in pink juice. Took me a long time actually.
I'm still out of it and these people are fucking annoying the shit out of me. I feel like I have a hangover and these trackies...
Well fuck them.
Wild Cherry Pepsi does nothing to help, but it's fucking break and I want one. I want to sit back and pass out instead of watching these fucks torture my UICer. They're yelling at each other "You're acting like a little kid." She's wagging her finger and he's laughing nervously (trying to stop anyway).
Speaking of new (old rather)--when nothing changes, it fades away...or I simply delete it. Bye bye Aggie. Long be the day when you figure out to stop dwelling on one thing and actually expand into a real journal of some sort instead of a little girl's diary.
For those of you who don't know--Nick emailed me. Had no idea about it for the longest time--I thought he was a little high schooler that was sending me his paper. When I saw the subject (whatup?), it was "You stupid shit. I'll open that and check out your paper later." Later was some 6 days, but I got around to it. Question though...how the hell does someone like Nick manage to get a temp job at Playboy? I don't care if he got to deal with photographs or not... Gratz.
I should be writing something. Or reading. But I'm not doing a damned thing. When your throat is tingling the pop going down, what the fuck are you supposed to do anyway?
My answer is clearly--bitch. Bitch and never stop. Meh. I guess I'm done now. Maybe I'll put an update out later tonight.
I was brushing my teeth after just hurling and found out that I had to again. So I went for the toilet and ended up hitting my head on the wall. Everywhere. I cleaned it up--best as I could. Took me a while to realize what the pink grapefruit cells were--lettuce covered in pink juice. Took me a long time actually.
I'm still out of it and these people are fucking annoying the shit out of me. I feel like I have a hangover and these trackies...
Well fuck them.
Wild Cherry Pepsi does nothing to help, but it's fucking break and I want one. I want to sit back and pass out instead of watching these fucks torture my UICer. They're yelling at each other "You're acting like a little kid." She's wagging her finger and he's laughing nervously (trying to stop anyway).
Speaking of new (old rather)--when nothing changes, it fades away...or I simply delete it. Bye bye Aggie. Long be the day when you figure out to stop dwelling on one thing and actually expand into a real journal of some sort instead of a little girl's diary.
For those of you who don't know--Nick emailed me. Had no idea about it for the longest time--I thought he was a little high schooler that was sending me his paper. When I saw the subject (whatup?), it was "You stupid shit. I'll open that and check out your paper later." Later was some 6 days, but I got around to it. Question though...how the hell does someone like Nick manage to get a temp job at Playboy? I don't care if he got to deal with photographs or not... Gratz.
I should be writing something. Or reading. But I'm not doing a damned thing. When your throat is tingling the pop going down, what the fuck are you supposed to do anyway?
My answer is clearly--bitch. Bitch and never stop. Meh. I guess I'm done now. Maybe I'll put an update out later tonight.