Sore heart is too poetic, actually. More like fucking pissed the hell off heart, but that’s something best not discussed here or ever, actually. ‘Cause it’s not like bringing it to that person’s attention will make any bit of difference–I doubt that person even senses I’m pissed and I am 100% sure this person doesn’t give a flying shit.

AND it’ll pass. It always does.

My throat hurts. It’s scratchy, so I’m probably getting sick. How much does that suck? LOADS.

And Rob, my brother from another mother, is going out of town and won’t be back til Thursday. How will I manage?

At least I got to see him tonight. Meet The Fockers was still cute 2nd time around–Dustin Hoffman is adorable. Who can not love his character? And who can not love going to a theater on a Monday night and having almost the whole thing to ourselves? Just me, Tyler, Rob, and Bizz. And some other random people. Didn’t know them. Heh.

Website stuff for the Grove. Should be fun. I hope, anyway. Could say more there, but won’t.

Must remember to take laptop with me tomorrow.

Starving. As usual. My body is ready to revert to night owl mode. (What do you mean revert? I’ve been in this mode for a long time now). Will have big breakfast tomorrow. Maybe McDonalds. And for lunch too. And why not? Dinner. Haha, I doubt I eat that much, but seriously. I’m giving it up for Lent. It’s Mardi fucking Gras. I need to indulge!

Dang it. Everyone’s asleep. I could use one of my privvy friends right now. But eh. Whatever. I’ll deal.

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