Thank you, Sir.

Every time I think it's fun and joyful to be hanging out with you and spending time together, you have to go and prove how much I should hate you. How much I should hate every fucking fiber in your body. You mother fuck.

Fuck you. I fucking hate you.

It's whatever-you-call-it-week in Fargo (ya know, where you put out "trash" and people come and pick it up if they want it/find it interesting). Because of this, there is now a chair sitting right in front of my door with a bowling ball bag (with the bowling ball still inside of it) sitting on top of it.

I hope my parents get a laugh out of it. They're discussing something serious right now.

I spent all eleven hours today keeping busy. And now I'm going to go to bed.