Funny.
I haven't written in this thing in about two years.
I haven't changed much. I still miss Tatia. I'm a little better at punctuation now... I still haven't done anything significant with my life. Still in highschool. Still don't have a boyfriend. Still dont care.
Today in math class I think I fell in love. It's not real love though. It's just day love. I will only love him for a day...He friend loves me too. I just know it. I also cannot pronounce Omaha. I learn vital and life changing things in my math class.
Life is insisting to be bitchass right now. We wrote a personal essay in english the other day. It resurfaced old feelings. I would post it for you...all none of you who read this. But I dont think I could bare to reveal that much to anyone except my english teacher. She is a good secret keeper. She won't tell everyone that my paper is about how I am fat and ugly.
I would like to believe that I am more mature then people my age, but really, I am nineteen and eighteen and seventeen and sixteen and fifteen and fourteen and thirteen and twelve and eleven and ten and nine and eight and seven and six and five and four and three and two and one. All at the same time. Sometimes when I want to cry, I feel four. Sometimes, when I want to lie, I feel twelve, cause I did a lot of that. And sometimes, I just dont want to be nineteen anymore.
What I want to be is fabulously well endowded and have a real date to homecoming, not one that I ask and they feel like they have to go with me.
I haven't changed much. I still miss Tatia. I'm a little better at punctuation now... I still haven't done anything significant with my life. Still in highschool. Still don't have a boyfriend. Still dont care.
Today in math class I think I fell in love. It's not real love though. It's just day love. I will only love him for a day...He friend loves me too. I just know it. I also cannot pronounce Omaha. I learn vital and life changing things in my math class.
Life is insisting to be bitchass right now. We wrote a personal essay in english the other day. It resurfaced old feelings. I would post it for you...all none of you who read this. But I dont think I could bare to reveal that much to anyone except my english teacher. She is a good secret keeper. She won't tell everyone that my paper is about how I am fat and ugly.
I would like to believe that I am more mature then people my age, but really, I am nineteen and eighteen and seventeen and sixteen and fifteen and fourteen and thirteen and twelve and eleven and ten and nine and eight and seven and six and five and four and three and two and one. All at the same time. Sometimes when I want to cry, I feel four. Sometimes, when I want to lie, I feel twelve, cause I did a lot of that. And sometimes, I just dont want to be nineteen anymore.
What I want to be is fabulously well endowded and have a real date to homecoming, not one that I ask and they feel like they have to go with me.