I AM SICK. AGAIN.
I wish you really would come take care of me. I'm starving. I'm fossilized.
I also smashed my laptop. xD School got on my last nerve and 'manda had some pseudo-nervous breakdown. No worries. They're sending me a new one, clean slate, music/picture-less and most importantly virus-less. Just have to wait three weeks.
I've got to get a card for his birthday. I have such a bad fever.
I wish I had that anti-Midas touch. Anything gold I put a hand to would turn in to life.
There's a lot of people I miss but I can't decide right now if it's worth admitting. The measure of love is always loss. I think the fever is breaking. Time for Stearns, ta-ta Palmer and hello Mistah Miller. The men that will never abandon me and are only existing to teach. Only existed to teach.
They don't snore at night, and so they are the perfect bed-time companion. They never have anything new to say so arguments are easily won. I don't think they get too mad when I threaten toset themn aflame in a glorious bonfire to prove my resistance and stick it to the man.
The fever's worse. I need a really cold hand on my cheeks and a hot kiss on the forehead. Let's not forget strawberry sherbet and the promise that despite how swollen my eyes are and how stuffy and man-like I sound,
you'll love me.
- sneeze. -