I always write to help my worried mind, always let out all my bad feelings through words, so when i go back to read my old rambles, it always brings me down. from now on i;m gonna write down something every day, some little tidbit i picked up, some things i did, anything. it will help me remember the good carefree times. I'm excited.
i don't know what it is but i cant stand you anymore. maybe because I've been with you for 6 weeks straight. then i got two weeks of freedom, glorious freedom, and it's hard to come back to living in this house, with you, with whom i now associate all the wonderful memories of arguments that you could never bare to lose, the days spent waiting at each corner for you as you lagged behind inconsiderately taking pictures.
my friend told me last night, in alcohol fuelled praise, that you were real. that she had incredible respect for you. and i just couldn't agree. you're real only in the sense that you let us know exactly what is on your mind without bothering if it upsets us. but you don't take the time to listen to me, to consider my opinions, because everything anyone else thinks is completely illogical and a waste of time. you can't grasp that you're views aren't one size fits all. they don't work for everyone; especially not me. You can't...
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