I hate April. No, to be more specific, I hate April 14, 2007, from 6:00 p.m. until 11:00 p.m. Why this deep loathing you ask? Prom. That's why. I loathe everything that has to do with it. The dresses, the dancing, the make-up, the hair-dos, /everything/. I don't like make-up. I don't like dresses (not just the wearing of them, but the shopping for them as well... apparently sizes have shrunk since IT [and by it I mean my dumbass sister Ashley] was in High School and nothing wants to zip over my god damn everything! >.< It makes me agitated, but I guess I should just get over it because according to everyone I talk to "You should go! It will be fun!"
I would SO rather stay home that night and play my guitar, write songs or stories, read until I'm so tired I can't turn the page, listen to music until the lyrics and music blur into something undecipherable and I just get lost in it. ANYTHING besides get in that god damn dress, get on the god damn bus (yes, I have to ride a bus to prom. It sucks major anus, I know) and go to the stinking thing. And not only that, I'm going alone. But then, where's the surprise in that? I've never had anyone of the opposite sex interested in me for anything other than friendship (which I'm not going to complain about... well, until they move away and then tell you that they don't want to be your friend because they need to grow up and get away from their past. I hate you Matt...) or answers on Spanish worksheets.
I'm sorry if I sound like a whiney 2 year old. I'm usually not like this. Honestly. I like being happy. I like smiling and not worrying about anything that's going on around me, but for some reason, that's just not seeming to happen for me anytime soon.
It's times like this that I really miss you Cassie... You're not only my cousin, but my best friend. We've been through so much in the 17 years of my life, and I just feel like I need someone to talk to right now...
God, I want to kick something right now... but what I don't know. I should probably go before I /really/ start blubbering like an idiot. I'll write more later, okay?
Love you lots,
Alisha