I feel like writing in this fuckin' thing again. . .

God damnit. . . I'm too happy. . . Not excesively happy, just happy instead of morose and hating the world. I've been trying to write a poem for the last half hour but I think I've finaly come to terms with the universe, and thus can't write a damn thing because my fuckin' perfectionism is winning over my weakened sorrow. I'm fuckin' pissed now. . . Oh well I guess I'll pretend to have normal teenage problems and shit:

OMG School starts tomorrow and it so totaly sucks. I'm not ready for Summer to end. . . fuck that.

Oh well, I'm at peace with the world at least for the time being. . . somebody please come get in an argument with me or make me feel like shit so I can stop feeling so goddamned self-rightious or whatever the hell I'm feeling. . .

I'm really so confused. . .