Geezus, what an asshole. You'd never know, huh?

I think Bobby and I have a late dinner date tonight, supposedly. Apparently we're going out so we can talk about me, why I've been so anti-social lately, why I've been in the shitter, etc. I don't know what I'm going to say to him in terms of explanations, if that's what they're called.

I just want to rub broken glass in my eyes so I can watch myself bleed, while stuffing cotton in my ears to tone out the ricockulous thoughts in my head.

Time to go write more pop punk songs while playing my stupid guitar.