Okay, so... pardon last night's moment of depressive-ness and listen here:

I CAN WEAR STRAPLESS BRAS NOW. MY BOOBS ARE ACTUALLY SMALL ENOUGH FOR THEM, BEING A 34DD, AND DOWN FROM A 40DD.

But that's not the important part. The important part is...

23 DAYS UNTIL MY 21ST BIRTHDAT, HONKIES!!

I don't want to turn 21.

I hate 21.

There's nothing fun about 21.

I didn't want to be 20. I wanted to be 19. Forever. I hate this shit. I hate getting old. 21 IS NOT GOOD. 21 IS VERY, VERY BAD.

FUCK 21. FUCK YOU 21, YOU MOTHER FUCKING SORRY ASS MOTHERFUCKING AGE NUMBER MARK THAT MOLLYS GOING TO LEAVE AGAIN.

I love Molly.

We've reached a goal four years in the making.

Congratulations, mon frere!!!

I have issues. I really do.

I wish I hadn't picked a 24 hr gym. Normal people don't work out for two hours at 1 AM.

I'm a little... well. Let's say my ego along with my writing ability are a little deflated ( Read more... )

I've been doing a lot of complaining lately ( Read more... )

Honestly? It just keeps getting worse.

A co-worker of mine is in the hospital. She has colon cancer, and is probably headed for death. Nothing looks good, there's no real hope or good news. I don't know what to do for her. I can't get her out of my head. I visited her today, and will visit her tomorrow, too ( Read more... )

Well... to be perfectly honest...

Friday was awful, Saturday really sucked ass and today is probably going to be ten times worse. The worst that could happen today is I lose my job because I knocked the teeth out of some already-toothless old lady for bitching at me ( Read more... )

I am so miserable.