It is still cold and I am still not sleeping as much as I should be. Imagine that.

May is a wonderful person and you should thank her. Because she took me out and talked with me and made me laugh, the shit you are about to read will not be so pissed/sad/stupid.

Actually? I really don't have a clue as to how I can put everything into words. Every time I come up with something to say, the dejavu is so fucking strong that even just thinking it is pointless. Isn't that funny? I could type up one of my journal entries from late 1999 and use it as tonight's.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Jerkface. What the fuck ever. "All I know is that I don't know nothing."

I want him to show me that this isn't the past repeating itself. I want him to...oh, I don't fucking know. This feels like something way too familiar and I hate the fact that I'm thinking like that. Except he's never gotten past "I have a crush on you," so why should I believe that now is any different? Oh, wait. Better question...why do I believe that now is any different?

I am not making any sense and I can't stop staring at my hands. Fuck it.

I can't fucking wait until Cocoa Beach. There's nothing like freshly squeezed orange juice and tequila to wake a girl up in the morning.

I'm so hardcore, your mom crosses to the other side of the street when she sees me coming. Yeah.

Gin.

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