I have troubles. I wish people who aren't eghteen, would stop going on about how great it is to be eighteen. Nothing particularly good has happened to me since I turned eighteen, and it's turning out to be filled with bad luck and bad omes for the year. I keep finding upside down pennies, Ross spills salt at work, every day. I am sick with something that won't go away, My yearbook deadline has passed ... again. I'm surrounded by incompetence. I still can't write that damn letter. I've gotten my first detention in .. forever? I'm always tired. I can never sleep. My boyfriends parents are dickheads. My neck hurts. People are assuming I'm doing things without asking me directly. I really hate that. I really, really hate when people assume they know what's going on in my life. I'm really cold.
I complain to much.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Much better.
1 comment:
but, bad things now, just mean good things later. right?
Post a Comment