I'm blogging for fuck's sake. And procrastinating. Surprise.
It is scary that I am passing things on to absorbent little sponges and then watching my teacher spew her brains to mush.
Thought that should be known.
The people who attend my school are stupid and will carry on the Slow-Tech stigma until we all die. I hate them. Yes, all of them. Except for me and 45% of SPA.
You want to join the GSA, say you're 'bisexual,' and call things 'ghay?' You're an insipid douchebag. The meaning doesn't change because you added an H, you fucking ingrate. Go. fuck. yourself. You call me fat? You weigh more than me and can't tell the difference between 'your' and 'you're.' Lay off the nutella and skinny jeans, overachiever.
Oh, and by the way, when you wrote "Grammer fail! Hahahahhaazzzz" you spelled GRAMMAR wrong. Step it up, champ. Middlesex might not accept you.
I swear, I hope no one reads these but Aladren.
Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooi'mgonnabeasenior.
So I was googling N3RD and found a New Zealand college production. Makaela/Leslie fail. For realsies.
I like grapes and harmonies.
My hands are shaky.
I'm pretty sure I'm certifiably insane. No jokes, I need meds. Like, Bella-dosage meds.
My soul feels like it's been gang raped. This whole 'social interaction' thing the kids are talking about is a little too complicated for me. These highs and lows are making me very tense.
My lack of reading comprehension is scary. Hopefully, medication would help that. I mean, if I get one main point of a passage, I hang on to that for dear life. And then I am so incredibly knocked away. It's distressing.
MR. SCHUSTER, YOU ARE NOT BLACK. STOP IT.
Prod my brain with a sharp pokey stick. I fucking dare you.
I do not enjoy being creepy. At all.
Princesssssssss this shit up.
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