Only for you, my sweets.

I gotta tell ya, in some bizarre sense, I enjoy being holed up in my room.

Yeah, I’m wasting hours. Doing nothing.

Nothing.

And, no I’m not complaining, no one’s calling me.

I Am Just Sitting Here I Am Just

I’m in eighth grade. I’m in 6th grade, seventh grade, 9th grade, I’m everywhere I used to be, I am me, I am at home, I am alone, and I am not complaining yet.

I’m sweaty, dirty, fat, and it used to be just on weekends. But now I live with my dad. This is everynight. (Assuming this goes on longer than the one day it’s been.)

I feel crazy. I feel like the weirdos in movies that movies their fingers around at fast paces Know Why?

I AM!

(Moving the fingers.)

Don’t laugh. Don’t think I’m stupid if you weren’t. I’m going crazy in this house, I’m doing nothing, now I’m comlaining. I’m sick of it. I went crazy, loco, for a moment.

And now I think about it. Maybe puting some air conditioning could get rid of the sweat. Maybe working out like I said I would could get rid of the fat.

Maybe having a fucking, no scratch that, maybe having a simple shower could effect the germs on my wasteful body.

(Maybe not being so pretentious for no reason other than being stuck here could help others to read your bullshit.

Maybe someone would care then.)