Josh said he wasn't going to do his journal anymore because no one comments. Well, dood!! Sometimes there is really nothing to say. If you're clear and concise (as Josh tends to be) there is no room for comment because everything is spelled out.
Whatever, man. Now how am I gonna know if he's doing all right? He's never home anymore, I mean great that he's living it up but he's not being careful.
So yeah. I fell asleep from like three-thirty to six when I got home from skool and I spent about forty-five minutes drifting in and out of consciousness and screaming the word "CUNT!!" at my phone when it rang and the Caller ID said it was Anonymous.
Telemarketers are anonymous. I pick up real fast, say, "Hello?" wait for a nano-second and then hang up. Fuck.
So then at 6.45 my phone rang again and this time I was pleased with what I saw in the little Caller ID box. It was Stefan's number. I picked up and we chatted for a while and then he asked if we were still doing something. Yes.
Why don't I have the courage to say, "Yes, we should because I love you and want to spend my every waking moment with you." Because I am lame.
So we went to got to his house by 8.30 and I repainted my nails so they weren't all ugly and chipped and then we chilled on his bed and watched Goonies.
I love being in his proximity. I paid him back for the Babyland shirt even though he told me not to worry about it.
So my skool night curfew is ten-thirty, and that's about the time we left his house-- so I get home at ten-forty-five and my mom starts screaming at me and telling me all this false propaganda about how I think I am hot shit and can do whatever I want.
I want my Neurontin and my Risperdal, and even my Paxil, and the only time I don't wanna be doped-up in the ok prescription-style is when I am with him.
I hate school. But at least he is hanging out with me. A definite improvement since last summer.
I hope he keeps calling me.