A Witty (Idon'tevencareifthat'sspelled right) Title

I don't know where to start. Perhaps here: I'm alive. I guess you could see that as positive, if you really looked into it.

Shows sucked this weekend. I'd rather not get into it, except to say that it had nothing to do with me. I was rockin' and rollin'. We saw shit.

Nothing is resolved with my sibling. I'm wrong and she's right. And I'm so wrong for taking offense.

My trivia starts up, soon. I need a micro-cassette recorder and can't afford one. That last bitch I lived with (Not Hizz) kept it and many other things of mine.

I have to go on the road with Tommy this weekend. Fuck me and just fucking kill me, as well.

I need to put up my review of All That Jazz and I don't feel like watching anything, at all.

Yes, you guessed it. I'm drowning in a pool of depression, yet again. And, no, it's not from the shitty shows. It started earlier last week. Which is why I was trying so hard to get out of the apartment with friends. I'm sorry if I was fucked up and a shit, those that actually participated. (Quill, it's ok. It's probablly better that you didn't feel like it.)

I'd like to write some crappy poem or something, but that just makes me feel like an idiot. I don't think I'm gonna write anymore of that shit.

I'm just gonna sit here and cry for a bit, until I can't do it, anymore.

Nix says: I forgot to mention the violent yelling fit I had earlier. Thank god that's over with.

nixeclips
NixEclip
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