Jun 10, 2005 15:15
Dear Agnes,
Writing journal entries is hard. So is reading. I've been trying to update for a while now. But nothing. I'm stale. I think I should work less. Yea, that's the cure.
I tried to boil an egg. It's harder than it looks. In my eighteen years of life, I've never boiled an egg before. For serious. So like, you're supposed to hear loud popping and have them crack and ooze egg guts, right? Thought so, Agnes. You're so helpful, you know that? I'll take you out for some apple juice one of these days.
I was sent a care package. Because people care. Not for you, Agnes -- you're just a wrinkly old lady who flails her arms a bit too much when eating mothballs -- but for me. But Agnes, the postal worker man came at 8:10 in the morning. It'd said so on the card. I'm sorry; I don't wake at 8:10 for anything other than work and that's only if I hear you screaming from inside the closet. You're such a good alarm clock, Agnes. I guess that's why they call you Clocky, huh? Also, Fuckface.
Okay. Bye, Agnes.