poop. in a bucket. |
2001-11-05 - 9:36 p.m.
i hate. i hate. i hate.
i hate how i feel so much and you seem to not care. i hate how you determine my mood, my day's outlook, my week's outlook. i hate how you are always the one that has something that has to be done so i'm left to wander how i'm going to get through the week. i hate feeling this. i hate you for making me feel this. no i don't. but i still hate.
[Athms223: i'm not gonna get to see you tomorrow probably
Athms223: got a night job
adaftapeth: will you be working weekend nights?
adaftapeth: no need for screaming.
Athms223: i mean i hope not
adaftapeth: well grand.
adaftapeth: my week isn't looking bright anymore.
Athms223: im sorry
adaftapeth: not your fault.
Athms223: let me know when you are free and ill try to work you in
Athms223: i love you
adaftapeth: stop being nice...i'm trying to be mad.]
what was that? "i'll try to work you in." oh well that's just wonderful. don't -i- feel important? i get to be fuckin worked in. happy days are here again! and i'm left feeling like a selfish immature worked in girlfriend. thank you, life, once again you've given me another reason to live.
i pay for your taco bell, man, you should treat me like a person.
but you do. but i'm mad. mer.
haTE. etah. HATE. ETah. hayte.
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