i have holes in my jeans and writing on my chucks.
two dusty guitars and a wish to one day be better than her so i can stop having fantasies about killing her and her bitch self.
my knees burn from sandpaper friction, my arms hurt from lifting 100.
knives keeps repeating in my head. what an amazing album.
my facebook/myspace/twitter/buzznet have no new notifications, and i probably won't be working at the little school this summer.
no job? seems likely at the moment.

blahhhhh.
sleep sleep sleeeeeeep.