I know I said we'd get married but I'm already married.

[[This was written on March 30th and I never finished it.]]

I legitimately burned my mouth on my latte last week. Not like when you drink it a little too fast and it hurts for a few hours. Like, I have sores on the inside of my lower lip and on the roof of my mouth. Mad fucking real burns, man. Lame. I really need to break this caffeine addiction. That can be one of my summer goals, lol. At this point, giving up my liquid sleep would only lead to failing out of school.

I am sitting in the ugly room on the first floor of the library that does nothing to inspire me to work except bore me to death. I have got 400 more words than I came here with, so I'm 40% done with this awful, far-reaching essay I am constructing. I'm tearing down an author I actually really like for the sake of having something to turn in. I don't really believe in what I'm writing, but you can't win them all. I can't win anything this week. My heart is beating too fast from the caffeine and I am short of breath. I have been sitting here developing an ulcer, not running around like a headless chicken. Unreal.

I think my face is broken. At CCO (Columbia Community Outreach; more on that later) on Saturday a few people told me I looked like I was having no fun at all. False, actually. That's just my face's default: depressed. Too many years of high school can do that to a person, you know? I am not that depressed that I don't enjoy anything. Geeze. I obviously need to get plastic surgery to avoid this awkward encounter in the future. Or practice my facial expressions in the mirror like they do in top model.

tamasha
cco
new yorchesis
flute choir blows
pfail
housing blows
twilol