Wednesday, January 2nd, 2002 | 14:03
Sometimes I get tired of being what I am to you.

Maybe I�ll get to the point where I�ll have written an entire novel and not realized it until it was finished. Having said that, I will be looking for it.

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Show me control. I can prove otherwise.

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Can you guess what I wrote here before I wrote this. Here�s a hint: it was probably about you.

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Every song ever written about people maligned by their emotions.

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Auto-format this, you fuckhead!

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I wi po th whenev I ab pu futomorr morni.
I get everything but the endings, but nothing is ever quite good enough. I am always bested by pain and peanut butter.
I am about rea. Better I dea, watch me cough a hole in my neck. It will be better than getting better.

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I am surrounded by "YOU SHOULDN�T BE WITH HIM!!!" and the selfinsh way I can be.

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Stay together. It�s good for the kids to become accustomed to the spiteful yelling and bitterness of (relationships in) the real world.

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Ever been so quiet?

If I were you, you would be a better person.

Twenty years from now I am still going to wish I were that little bit older.

My life is calculated and Staples is closed. I yearn for the times when I run on instinct alone.

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