Fuck.

Extremely foul mood.

Pissed, but clearly ever-so-hypocritical.

Worried that I might become something I didn't want to and not even mind.

Missing Allison like crazy.

Paranoid, in an inconvieniently bitchy manner.

Hourly panic attacks about the fuckmeuptheass essay I have to do.

Bi-hourly panic attacks about the second chair I have no prayer of obtaining.

Feeling abandoned (I already said hypocritical, I know).

Having second thoughts.

Terrified.

I fucking miss you, alright? That pisses me off too. Traditionally, I'd call you when I get like this, but since you're such a fuck-up, I can't even (ever) do that. Congradulations, asshole.

We're fading out and dwindling fast. I fucking hate it.

I can't do it like she can, I'm the exact opposite - to me they're damn near impossible to come by, even harder to let go of.

Who can I vent to anymore? It'll just upset or anger the only two I've got. I know fully well that I'll be in a world of hurt whenever this one gets read. C'est la vie.

and what's more, I'm probably going to be wallowing like this for the whole of next month, until I get to LEP...

...what better time to reopen my blog, then?