It's another one of those I-don't-wanna-sleep nights. To be honest, I'm scared of dreaming and of what I will feel like when I wake up in the morning.

I'm starting to become obsessed with my bones again and the way they control my body. The last time I felt like this, it ended with a fucked up wrist (not to be confused with the time I broke my wrist after hitting a wall). I just couldn't believe that there were bones in my body until I broke one. And I tried until I couldn't take the sound anymore. Shit, I can barely remember what happened, I was so fucked up on Valiums and god knows what else. Kids, stay away from psych. drugs. Seriously.

I don't know why I am writing about this. Oh, yeah. I'm scared that if I wake up in the morning, this weird obsession with my bones will have gotten worse. I'm telling myself that I don't disassociate like that anymore and it was those stupid pills I took that made me feel like my body was not mine. If that makes sense.

But I can't stop thinking about it.

OK, I am actually in a good mood and not at all upset. Really. I'm just writing to get this shit out of my head.

No updates lately, huh? It is a good thing.

Guess what? It's that time of month where Molly pretends that she is going to talk to a boy, only to wuss out and blame it on having a zit.

I saw LBC on Sunday and it was noticed by my co-worker that he acts like he wants to talk to me. Yeah, I know. How does somebody act like they want to talk to you, right? I don't know. But that's what she said.

Anyway.

I guess I should eventually initiate some kind of conversation with the boy, since this crush can only grow so big on shallowness, but how the fuck am I supposed to do that? Tell him I have a fifteen minute break coming up and, hey, wanna go makeout in the book drop? It's got a padded floor!

He's just a guy. Repeat. Just a guy.

Oh, I don't care. Really. This is stupid.

You know who I hate? Ray fucking Liotta. He's so goddamn smarmy. Christ.

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