I listen to three different songs at once to provide some sort of company. My roommate moved out six months ago. I've been doing two jobs to just keep my pitiful little apartment. My music is violent. "But I believe in peace, bitch."

I've discovered that people scare me. Normal people. The perfect little wives in their perfect little SUVs, the primping, powdering, puffing girls. The pretty girls. "Those demi-gods with their nine inch nails and"…yeah. I like Tori Amos. She's singing in one ear. Eminem is screaming somewhere behind me. There's something sad playing from my computer speakers, but I can't identify it off the top of my head.

I forced a friend to listen to Tori Amos a few days ago. She said that her singing was very raw, emotional and touching. It sounded deep. It sounded like she really knew what she was talking about. Then she went off and chased boys with her clique, and I sat in a corner and talked to my best friend on my cell phone. I'm not pathetic. I'm just not not pathetic. Does that make any sense? No, didn't think so.

I got sick of smoking. People say it's bad for you. Fine. I stopped smoking. That lasted about a day. I've started smoking clove cigarettes. But I still haven't touched a drop of alcohol. Never. In my life. Alcohol's a too- obvious way of self-destructing. I'm not an obvious person.

I hate deadlines. They hurt when you run into them. I do that a lot, and yet I'm still kept on at my job for some reason I can't quite comprehend. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

I'm taking English this semester. Again. I like the Prof. She's got the same sort of ideas that I do. I do not, however, like the class. None of them would know an iambic pentameter if it came up and smacked them on their overly made up faces. Except 'Cute Skinny Guy'. He sits in front of me and quotes Star Wars. And he knows when I'm flirting with him. Not that I am, you know. Flirting with him, I mean. Because I'm np>Niel tells me I crush on way too many people. It's not true. After class I spent about an hour stalking the Mr. Sub girl, until my scary Social Sciences prof tried to get me to help him with the computers in the lab. I know that they weren't malfunctioning, because the really cute tech personally went over them all today. This morning. I watched him do it. That is why I missed Social Sciences. Talk about bad karma.

After running away from the lab, I went and knocked on Kira's door. She wasn't home, but I went in anyway. Borrowed her dye. My hair is now a nice shade of purple. I like it, at least. And I will pay her back for the dye. Eventually. I…swear. After that I met Niel and we went and hung out at Mr. Sub. Tuna is yummy! Didn't see stalkee there. *pout*

I returned to Niel's to use his computer, as my Internet was disconnected by the fairies. He left about fifteen minutes ago to find us ice cream. Mmm…nice best friends...

I've decided that guys who play the guitar are hot. Unhealthily so. And no, nobody that I know personally plays. But, the guy at the music shop does. I was there picking up Niel's trumpet, and the guy behind the counter and I quoted Shakespeare at each other. Then he played 'Bryan Adams' for me. Then I walked out with the stupid trumpet, and I haven't thought of him since. That was three days ago. I'm allowed just one quick ponderence. Ponderence. Is that even a word?

Coffee is my friend. Five page English essays are not. I dislike Microsoft word count, because I think it leaves all the little words such as 'and' and 'the' out of its calculations. Little words like those are how I made it through high school with an honours average. They're my friends, but Word just has to go distort them. But that's ok, because we all know that Bill Gates is taking over the world. Or he's planning it. Or he already has. Yeah. Sleep deprivation. I'm usually good for about 24 hours. I've been up for 36. I'm not good.

I'm going to find a way to take over the English department. I've just decided that. If I did that, I wouldn't have to hand in this essay in…umm…eight hours. Such things as extensions are absolutely unheard of phenomenon in this class. It's not the prof's fault. It's the fairies. They really don't like me, you know? It's got to be revenge for something. I laughed at Tinkerbell when I was twelve. That's gotta be it. I'm sorry, Tink.