It is the day before Monday and the wretchedness of it all is has just begun to seep into my skin...I refuse to enumerate the various clearance requirements that I have not submitted, recall the amount of money I have wasted or imagine how my Journalism partner is doing right now.
It is Sunday and I have gone yet all schizo again because of stuff that need not be proclaimed over the Internet. I have reached the point wherein schizophrenia is not enough to describe me and thus, I have searched 'bipolarity' on Wikipedia. All I remember now is that those who have had the disorder include a lot of creative geniuses, people who attempted suicide and maniacs -people who have chattery speech patterns and LACK OF SLEEP- Obviously, I am some species of bipolar victim that has not been discovered. I feel so special.
It is two days before the day I become as old as the freshmen in my Creative Writing GIFT class. My mom asked me what flavor the Red Ribbon rolls should be. I said that I didn't want her to buy anything for the class. She asked why. I said I really didn't want anyone to get anything. She asked about my friends. I said that this celebration is a competition and my friends chances of winning...well...End of conversation. No cake.
--Must watch pirated Enchanted DVD, bye now--
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