dreamz unlimited.net

So like, Iapos;m tired. I always tired.

I get tired of things pretty easily, which Iapos;m guessing is the norm when youapos;re a teenager, so Iapos;d better get used to it. I donapos;t wanna talk about pirates. I donapos;t wanna talk in a British accent. I want to take a shower and go to bed, and I know I should read or write a bit first but I donapos;t wanna. I donapos;t, I donapos;t. And I donapos;t wanna get up early tomorrow either unless I am most well rested.

On Saturday I am going to watch a black belt test (go Pearlman, McCoy and Warren, woot). And I just realized I have two more years of Spanish to go.

Two. More.

Which isnapos;t so bad, but things arenapos;t going very well with I-Know-Who. On the bright side, Halloweenapos;s a-coming and I have some plans--though not very many. Better than nothing. Sadly it doesnapos;t involve play contest.

Sadly shouldnapos;t be at the front of that sentence because it modifies "it" and "it" in this case is not doing anything sadly, which is instead supposed to refer to my tone in that sentence. As in, hopefully or sadly. But whatever.

I am improving at Spanish. Today I learned how to properly say "I agree that weapos;re all going to die," and so now itapos;s okay.

Clap. Clap.

I am torn between writing about Simon and his extreme guyishness (read: density) and keeping it deep, deep inside. Deep, deep. As in, so deep it will only ever come out in girl talks, on eight separate occasions, in Spanish class when my bffn Anne and I are whispering instead of paying attention and when I am trying not to give him glances. Trying, trying. So I will try to keep my feelings in but Iapos;ll end up telling Anne, and sheapos;ll talk about Jake, and weapos;ll both feel pretty bad, and then weapos;ll take a Spanish quiz, or maybe get one back. Then I guess itapos;ll be all right.

Cheer up, emo kid.

�

dreamz unlimited.net, dreamz.net, dreamz.net endless.