This is nice, in a horrible sort of way. Someone else is sad, and this time it's not me. So we're talking about things, and he's telling me things, and I feel bad for him now. Becuase it's just plum shitty that things worked out not for him. And it feels good to talk about someone other than myself (not pertaining to this entire diary, but to this conversation). I'm tired of being the girl that everyone writes songs about, you know, that sad little squirt of a girl.

No, tonight I am a girl with self-braided French pigtails staying up way past a reasonable bedtime. Today that is fun.