The Sandman.

Sometimes I just want to drink until I die.

The new plan:
1. Finish book and homework post for online class.
2. Shower, you slob.
3. Drive to reservation, buy cheap cigarettes.
4. Drive to bar, drink.
5. Die?

Oh, and about 30 minutes ago I ate 3 pirogis. With sour cream. And some grapes on the side. So earlier, what I said? Big. FAT. Lie. I wish I could say something and stick with it. I wish I lived alone. All of this family time is making me choke. All of the eggshells I'm walking on around my Father are broke. Stupid prick, I fucking hate you. And then there is my Mother. Frigid, weak cunt. I'm so sick of you both. Just kick me out, already, I know you want to. I know you hate me. I know you're counting down the days (like I am) until I leave and am OUT OF YOUR HAIR.
I hate living here - there's too much food.
I hate living here - they hate me.

I just washed a dress and the colors bled onto my favorite white tank top. MotherFUCK I'm pissed off right now, I just wish I was dead.

Or do I?
How fucking emo can I get?

At this point I am just procrastinating. I need to read this fucking book and GET ON WITH MY NIGHT before I GO CRAZY!!!!!!!

Too late, I'm gone.

Just calm down. Just breathe. Just read.

*Think thin*

xo to those who bother commenting (you're the ones who would come visit me in the psych ward)

and I love you.