My right eye is bloodshot and I don't know why. Notice how easily I could turn that into a rap and then notice how I am not. That is because I want to get in your pants later and must save all my slick rhymes for when you are good and drunk.

I think if anyone asks me what happened to my eyeball, I will tell them that I got in a fist fight with their mom. I don't know why I'll say that, but for some reason, that's the only response I can come up with right now.

This entry sucks ass. No wonder barely anyone reads this thing anymore. You come here and get smacked in the brain with tepid asshole.

I'm premenstrual. May and I will now refer to going on the rag as getting our monthlies. We'll make so many friends that way.

TEPID ASSHOLE-D!

Um, yeah.

Things still pretty much suck. Of course they suck. I have to stop feeling like I'm whining when I say that or like I should be over it by now. I know I'm not weak for still crying, still wanting to smash things, still feeling like everything is a goddamn dream and my heart racing cuz of the intensity. That last part didn't really make sense, but I can't figure out how to explain it. Sound and light and people sometimes expand to unreal proportions and it really fucking scares me. It's like what happens when you don't sleep for a couple days. That's what it has been like for the past three weeks, almost without respite. A really fucking bad dream. Or acid trip.

Why the fuck am I talking about this?

Oh, yeah. Cuz this is a fucking JOURNAL. Shit.

I have to get ready for work now. Go look at May's entry for today and see our new place. Plus puppies.

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