{19th may 2012}
dear jen,
they're talking about me. they think i can't hear them, because i have my earphones in and i'm writing to you, but they're wrong, and i wish they weren't.
i won't tell you what they're saying. it'll be like sticking the knife in twice and twisting it round a bit too.
it would be great if i could just shut people up sometimes. like go over to them and punch them in the face or something and be like "hey, yeah, i know you're talking shit. stop."
but people talk shit all the time. even i don't have enough time to go round punching everyone who ever talked shit about anyone. no one punches the devil, but he was the very first guy to talk shit, because he bitched about god to adam and eve.
plus, if i had a talk shit get hit rule, i'd most likely spend most of my time punching myself. a lot.
i'm crying now. ah, shit, there's water on the page. i should probably stop writing before the paper gets soggy. i fucking hate it when that happens, because it crinkles up afterwards and also the ink gets blurred. so, sorry. about the crinkly paper and the blurred ink. if it makes you feel better, pretend it's a metaphor for my life.
