Fucking stupid junk email.

It's just junk mail. Nothing more. I shouldn't be surprised - he said he'd thrown away his modem before. Must have gone through with it again. And yet he went online... wrote...

Quicksand.

Do you want to know something strange? That was one of the most incredible compliments I've gotten. He gives those, compliments that leave me half-wondering if they are even real, but they are so out-of-the-ordinary that I can't help but believe them. They don't sound trite. Not overdone.

It sounds like he means them, compliment and insult all rolled into one beautifully-written package. Is it any wonder I can't get the arrogant bastard out of my thoughts, sometimes?

Feh.

On to other things.

My computer's connection, in fact my provider in general, is being evil. It wouldn't let me online today until just now... ICK. And now we go to class - class starts at 6:00 for me, that's pacific time, kiddies. I'll be online. I'll be bored. I'll be checking email and the guestbook (thank you, bitch... *hugs*) and just being me. This is a class that we were not supposed to teach - someone else was, but she had a stroke. Did I mention that before? Eh, no matter... said it now. So... yeah. We have no clue.

At least half the time, Cal will be talking and I'll be hiding on a computer, trying very hard not to have a panic attack in front of a whole class. Yay me.

So write me. Amuse me.

Convince me that the only thing in the universe is the keyboard, the screen, and my inbox.

I really don't want to face the world. Got a bit confused over the last few days. A bit stressed. I screamed at dinner - literally shouted at it because it wasn't cooking fast enough. Mind you, I do this sometimes anyway, but it's usually half-joking then... this was just me flipping out.

I REALLY need something.

Hard drugs.

Hard alcohol.

A hard beating.

Hard fucking.

Something long, hard, and lickable.

Damned if I know what it is I actually want... I'm sure I will figure it out eventually. Really.