Eight Legged Freaks
Looking back at what I've said earlier I think, "who is this person who writes these? How come she keeps changing every time. I'm different tonight then I was last time I wrote.
Is anyone going to read this? Will I ever be brave enough? Maybe its not bravery, maybe its apathy. I don't care if you read into my soul, just don't tell my parents.
It's funny how parents spend so much of there time taking care of us and protecting us and now I feel like I should protect them from what's bad out there. No, you shouldn't read that, its not appropriate, it might even make you sad.
The reason I won't talk to them about any of my problems or worries is not because I don't love them. It's because they're so busy and so stressed out that I don't want to make them have to worry about more things. I'll try to be as low matinence as I can.
I just lost my train of thought. Not that these are following any kind of flow anyway. What was I going to say? I can't remember now. Time to go to bed because my eyeballs are burning and I'm afraid a spider is going crawl on me. I'm sorry, you have eight legs and are gross, so you deserve to die.
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