Rushing rushing rushing. D:

Oh, look what you did, you delicious saltines you. You got crumbs all over my nice picnic blanket. (or as Mrs. Parker called it, my serviette. Little does she know, that serviettes are actually a nation of napkins called the Serviette Union. Oh, French teachers...)

I think I have ADHD. Every time I try to stay on topic, I...don't. I just straight-up don't.

And now I have the hiccups. AGAIN. Jeez, diaphragm. Could you be ANY MORE spastic? I mean, really. This is about the twentieth time I got the hiccups this week. And it's only Tuesday! I don't think I'm very healthy. My hair's falling out everywhere, I got hiccups ALL THE TIME, I have insomnia, and I have a growing nation of fruits with ink faces chilling in my freezer, which I might say creeps out my mom. So that's actually kind of a plus. Man, I'm so weird. I want an apple. And a REAL apple, not one of Gracem's fake basket apples she has to carry around on stage. They disappoint me SO MUCH because they look SO FLIPPING REAL. It's insane! I saw at least 3 people try to eat them and they ended up as disappoint (I love Leia. <3) Okay, saltines. I'm done nomming on you now. Speaking of nomming, I have three words for that: TRAVIS AND GRACE. They make me want to shoot up the school, for serious. I mean, Grace is either too busy with her mouth ALL OVER Travis's face, which he doesn't mind and that pisses me off, just for the sake of TOO MUCH PDA, or she's going around with some sort of endless period and wenching at everyone. She's just all like "OUT OF MY WAY. I HATE YOU ALL. I'M BECOMING A WENCH. WENCHY WENCHY WENCHY." And nobody likes her anymore. Honestly, I think she would be better without Travis. It's sort of my fault anyway. If I had never taken her over to Travis's house that one night, they might hardly even know each other. Just bluh. Bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh. I love the word "wench". I just kinda rolls off my tongue. Of course, I'll only use it when it's necessary, since its meaning (to me, anyway) is a haggy old woman or mean little brat that goes around with a thunderous, infectious storm cloud over her head. And yes, it can only be a female. Or Dan Noe. Flub. I still have no answer from a certain someone about coming to the play this weekend. Maybe he's just ignoring me. I really hope that's not the case, but I'm not gonna make a big deal about it if he doesn't show up. It's not my decision where he comes and goes. Le shrug. I have to go get ready for stage c-- Wait a second, I just realized I have a spare half hour because I don't have to be there until 5:30. Which is actually much too early in my case since the show doesn't start till 7-7:30. Even in rehearsals. So we just stand around and do nothing. Oh boy, oh boy. Okay, I have no more things to say. My head hurts.