But I'm not doing so great . . .
I won't be able to come on Gaia again until my laptop gets its screen fixed; no telling when that will be.
By the way, 90 pages of my book are on that damn thing, and I'm freaking out.
They will probably have no need to erase anything, but I can't be too sure.
(I know I could do it over again anyway, but still).
My "friends" are really staring to piss me off, so I'm looking at a long and lonely summer right now, and I still have three more years to waste in this godforsaken shithole of a town, where all the losers seem to flock.
Let me tell you this: if someone commits something really horrible, and then "apologizes" for it, ignore them. It's all a pack of lies, and as far a I'm concerned, they don't deserve you or me.
Three years from now when I'm making millions and winning Academy Awards and being on the New York Times Bestselling Lists, those bastards will regret everything. And what's even more amusing is the fact that they'll have to live with it for the rest of their pathetic lives.
So yes. It's that bad, and I'm not happy with my current situation.
I can't hide it any longer, Maelor.
I miss you.
The nights are cold without you... my heart is empty. I miss your laugh, that twinkle in your eye, the way your voice echoes in my head...
In my dreams I play jumprope with your small intestines... squish squish...
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