This is not a love song.

I must be PMS-ing. One of those sucky days.

Woke up early enough to get ready and get to work on time. Ate before I left, to make sure that when my break would finally come I wouldn't be starved. Did all the right things, felt so organized and complete, except I didn't make my bed. Drive to work...started pouring once I hit Great America on 101. Stupid shit. Lingered a while on the CD I had in my deck.

Hawthorne Heights: So cut my wrists and black my eyes/So I can fall asleep tonight, or die.

Then I just felt like singing along to somethin in the car, so I put in my Mix For Enjoyable Driving. Saw a truck on the freeway and thought Is that... and it was. And I wanted to stop, help her--do something. But I knew I wouldn't. Wish I had a magic toolbox to fix every problem and fix everyone. Because some people don't deserve the lives they have...because some people deserve better. And everything seemed unfair to me...me, driving on my way to work with not a fucking care in the fucking world except for my own...and yet people in my own fucking family I avoid because I hate to fucking hear about the shit that's happening.

My magic toolbox could fix everything. That's not how it works out, though...

Work...fucking sucked. Nonstop busy-ness. Ugh. And oh, I love to be talked to like shit. And oh, I love rolling my eyes to every fucking stupid comment Alex makes. And oh...I suck.

And on my way home, I was so angry. Maybe because I don't know...I don't know. Fuckin just hoped that it wouldn't come out when I went to see my family. Melancholy thoughts. Sang at the top of my fucking lungs. MOTIVATE ME. CAPTIVATE ME. IF I FALL DOWN, WOULD YOU PICK ME RIGHT UP OFF THE GROUND? You fucking liar.

Seeing my family...I hate making promises I don't keep, and desperately make promises that I desperately hope I can make real. Sometimes I worry I miss too much...Sometimes I worry they'll see right through me.

Good Charlotte: Motivate me, I wanna get myself out of this bed. Captivate me, I want good thoughts inside of my head. If I fall down, would you come around and pick me right up off the ground?

Foot on the gas, drive too fast...live fast, die young. Trying to break through something, hear the shatter once you drive right through it, but what is it? Invisible goals.

I don't understand these days. Not at all. Wonder what tomorrow will be like.

Saves the Day: and I'm trying to let you know that I'm doing this by myself- so don't forget we sent letters to ourselves without words and it was just to remember those days that we spent in our heads.

Ugh. Talk to me when I'm dealable. I won't be mad. Maybe after this my head won't be so cluttered.