Everyone fails to realize how much driving I do. There are little thank yous said, and little appreciation for the non-existent taxi cab driver enscripted on my forehead. I'm sick and fucking tired of it. Maybe I'll just stop driving and start riding a goddamned bike. Then how the hell is everyone going to get around, huh?

And holy fuck, I don't ask for much. When the hell will the day come that some *nice* boy won't leave me for another state or another girl or for not having sex with him, etc.? Let me say this: you don't want my life, you don't want to be me, no matter how glamorous or great it seems, it's not. Because I have no one to turn to, no one to confide in, no one that will tell me that I have valid reason to feel this craptacular.

I will, however, say that I tried to get S*R to say "Happy Birthday" to Annelise, and even with Jason stopping mid-set to double check her name, he still forgot. Becca gave me a bunch of Midtown samplers, which was great in itself. Saw Double J, saw Dan, blah blah blah. Went bowling. Blah blah blah.

I'm not in much of a mood to write tonight. Could you tell?