Last night Lucky sat me down and forced my woes out of me over my 6th cup of PBR and the heightened anxiety due to a certain mohawked travel companion of winter past circulating the party in celebration of the frisbee team's victory at regionals this weekend. I faced things I didn't want to come to terms with and I still don't. I didn't appreciate someone trying to figure me out, mostly because I don't have myself figured out so why on earth would I want him to have me figured out? I'll probably resent that for a long time hereafter, mostly because he was right and I have to find a new way of "dealing" that doesn't involve bottling and shelving everything that strikes a nerve and overreacting to those things of much much lesser importance. I have alot of growing to do.

"he doesn't talk about you at all." said the mulleted scenester who grasped every opportunity possible to wrap his overwhelming ego around the next possible victim. I have no respect for those that demand it in such a senseless way. Tight pants and no personality to call his own, crying out for attention on the barracade, singing along to the songs he isn't part of anymore, and not realizing how much better off they are without him.