Ranting.

Perfection is too perfect. I'd much rather deal with the perfection of imperfection any day than deal with boring old perfection. I still don't have swine flu. Seems to me that I never will. I need to dye my hair, and maybe it'll look longer afterwards. My bed feels really uncomfortable right now. I'm already done with the new novel about Titanic I got just last Thursday. It was far too short. I still can't stop listening to Avril Lavigne. I want to get high so badly but I'm not going to. 'Cause that'd be, like, bad, and shit, right? Drop Dead Diva made me so mad because she's not going to jail, and she's not a lawyer anymore, I think, and she's got a HUSBAND that even SHE didn't know about. Where the fuck does he fit in to the battle she already has going about trying to choose between Tony and Grayson? Is it now Tony vs. Grayson vs. Ethan? What the fuck ever. And I have to wait until next season to see how it all pans out. My life is hanging on by a thread. I'm still questioning my choices, severely. I have to go open up about all my secrets to a fucking mental health specialist Tuesday. Who's bright idea was it for me to seek help, anyways? Oh, yeah. Mine. Fuck me anal for that brilliancy right there. I'm tired but I can't sleep. I'm almost out of Reese's peanut butter cups, and that makes me really sad. I'm a size three and a fucking half. I need to gain weight. I forgot to do my English/Geometry/Biology homework. I can't wait for Halloween now. Why in the fuck can't I go to sleep? And what on earth is that godforsaken sound buzzing in the corner of my room that won't go the hell away? I name inanimate objects. Including rubber duckies. Who are named Emma and Amelie, after characters in the book I just read. You should all go read Distant Waves by Suzanne Weyn, because it was simply amazing and I'll probably write a whole other blog about it later summarizing and reviewing it. I just started volume one of Night World by L. J. Smith. Guess that's all for now. ZoomZoom(: