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Feeling: Calm. Loving my life. |
Eating: Um... life?
Wearing: Jeans, black tank top with built in bra, lavender panties, eith a little sleeping kitty on them, my claddagh, green choker and matching earrings, contacts, vestiges of the day's make-up, black belt.
Listening to: *Hummmmrumblerumblerumble* It's my washing machione making contented noises.
Chatting with: Keeping my own counsel.
Thinking: "I need to concentrate on my posture more."
Remembering: Dave's tongue ring.
Glad for: My ability to move past fear into growth.
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Today is: 2003-02-20 - @ 8:45 p.m.
They say ice cracking sounds like a gunshot. all time - is relative
I donít know how I feel right now. Iím having problems with Mike, and I must admit, we are both handling it immaturely. I donít know what I do, no, thatís wrong, I know what Iíve been doing, pissing him off. Fuck. This is the burden of boyfriends. I just asked if we could talk for once, just talk. Have a serious goddamn conversation for once. And he gets angry with me. Hits a wall or some shit apparently. Calls me, pissed and impatient. Iím sorry. Sorry for wanting to actually talk to my boyfriend. No, Iím just being needy. Heís walking on thin fucking ice and I control the temperature.
Quote for the Entry: ďFucking alright already, Iíll call you.Ē -Mikeís IM to me.
I donít fucking need this.
all time - is relative