well then.

Let's try a new font to make up for my lack of creativity today.

i am a huge wench. i woke up and made a few hundred apologies. that is not good. if i cant be smart at least be decent. nope, strike three. i belong on the bench.

speaking of, what makes you mad? i mean furious. what memory do you have that makes you absolutely steam? mine is Mr. Dillon, my sophomore year of varsity softball. why the hell did he want me there? all my friends were having fun PLAYING with Mr. Watts and I got to wear pinstripes. Whoopdeefrinkindo. christ, i sucked. i mean i really sucked. he ruined me. he made me put on gear to catch for chiristine rubik. i was so fucking scared i couldnt even throw the ball back. what's that movie? major league? the catcher that had to think of playboy bunnies in order to get the ball back to the pitcher. yea, that didn't work either. in warm-ups i looked like a chicken, a pink one, something ridiculous. i hit jenny rounds in the back of the head with a very very very bad throw to third base. he made a fool out of me. for three innings. then he laughed. i want to murder Mr. Dillon.

why, why why do i do these things to myself. god, my high school and most people in it would be ash right now if i learned the lesson earlier. my nickname in australia was murder. Murder. yes, i look that happy. what the hell is wrong with me.

im a terrible friend. im in this for myself i think, since i cant contribute anything else.
im sorry johnny, i didn't know it was happening. i didn't mean to be so drunk. i didn't mean to arouse a hug when you're the one that needed one.
im sorry steve, i didnt mean to wake up the neighborhood. i didnt mean to call you a liar. im sorry you have to look at me everyday.
im sorry amy and amanda and neely and cat.
im sorry jamie. i morphed into every man i hate.
and to the rest of you, im sorry. I'm sorry you have to be on the receiving end of my loud mouth.

im going back to bed.