he said something like, "you and me babe...how bout it?"
days til poho: 39. days til silver bay: 188. emails from peter: 0 (that JERK. oh, blah blah blah, ana, i am so over it, let's be friends! i just forgot to tell you about my new email address, no biggie, now i'll write back all the time, whatever, it's cool, GOOD DEAL. he is a LIAR and a CHEAT and a FUCKWITTED BASTARD). number of times in past weekend have been slapped by schroeder: unfathomable (but i got in a few good ones myself). refrigerators have broken in last 24 hours: 1 (oh, excellent).
well i'm not going to lie, it's sort of nice to be home and not have someone's foot in my face (ahem schroeder). but tommorow morning i will have to wake up at six thirty (and not just cuz moogie's stomach is making noises) and go to SCHOOL. i've gotten so used to rolling out of bed whenever i feel like it, usually after having been lying there for a while with schroeder and ian and moogie, that i dont know what i'm going to do. i dont want to go back to frontier, i dont want to have to do work, and i dont want to go to french class!
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
i was listening to "under the bridge" on my way home. the first time i heard that song on the radio was like the first week of august last year, and after only a few measures of that guitar bit, i realized what it was, and i felt like i was gonna hurl. i seriously could not breathe, except my heart was beating really really fast, so i lay down on the floor and stared at his picture which was still on my ceiling, and just cried and cried and cried. the same type of thing happened for awhile afterwards, but now when i hear it it's just kinda comforting (although still, ya know, a little sad). i'm only mentioning this because it's nice to know that even i can (sort of) get over things.
although if he doesnt email me by the end of this week i am never speaking to him ever ever EVER again.
<3
"what's intellect got to do with women's rights or black folks' rights? if my cup won't hold but a pint and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?" -sojourner truth
well i'm not going to lie, it's sort of nice to be home and not have someone's foot in my face (ahem schroeder). but tommorow morning i will have to wake up at six thirty (and not just cuz moogie's stomach is making noises) and go to SCHOOL. i've gotten so used to rolling out of bed whenever i feel like it, usually after having been lying there for a while with schroeder and ian and moogie, that i dont know what i'm going to do. i dont want to go back to frontier, i dont want to have to do work, and i dont want to go to french class!
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
i was listening to "under the bridge" on my way home. the first time i heard that song on the radio was like the first week of august last year, and after only a few measures of that guitar bit, i realized what it was, and i felt like i was gonna hurl. i seriously could not breathe, except my heart was beating really really fast, so i lay down on the floor and stared at his picture which was still on my ceiling, and just cried and cried and cried. the same type of thing happened for awhile afterwards, but now when i hear it it's just kinda comforting (although still, ya know, a little sad). i'm only mentioning this because it's nice to know that even i can (sort of) get over things.
although if he doesnt email me by the end of this week i am never speaking to him ever ever EVER again.
<3
"what's intellect got to do with women's rights or black folks' rights? if my cup won't hold but a pint and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?" -sojourner truth