Hair: This bun thingy, bangs down
Eating: Nothing
Drinking: Dr. Pepper *hallelujah chorus*
Thinking: 1. Being a teenager is wicked-I can make myself cry with anyone

2. Holy fudsicle...I. Need. To. Hear. That. Song! (so, yeah-that's me...)
Feeling: Unloved, sarcastic
Talking to: My father (actually, more like listening to his soliquoy as I fill this out...)
Listening to: The suitcases in the back squeak against the leather backseat
Watching: Highland, IL creep by
Loving: My kittens, Trey (<3 hope all goes well in the Navy-better come back and see me!), the word: pasquinade, and, last, but not least...I can't tell you, lol
Hating: This trip, the fact that whatever I do it isn't good enough for my Grandma
Wanting: Friends
Waiting for: Myself to finish this
Weather: Dark, cloudy
Time: 9:05 PM
Hoping: This friggin' sore will heal up
Situation: Desperate, bored, cynical, etc. *dramatic ol' me*





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