baseball would never make me cry

in creative writing i was fighting back the tears and i texted stephen, who told me, "there's no crying in baseball," well folks, this isn't baseball, baseball doesn't make me cry (with the exception of sentimental happy tears, and when the ams released bordo and i fucking bawled). i really wasn't going to cry though, i had it under control, and abbey is always amazingly ridiculously funny enough that i never make it to the point where i'll actually bawl, (and mike petrecelli had this great story where he kept saying fuck), but then we went to break, and the teacher, who i can't stand as it is, pulls me aside to tell me i should have had my "exercise" ready. fuck her, i brought a poem, just because it wasn't her stupid "write out of you genre" fucking exercise, she didn't care, "you've done this before, what's going on with you? do you do this in your other classes?" look lady, i have a writing issue, i shouldn't have taken this class, i know that now. everyone says i can write, but i still don't see it, i can't do it, especially when i have to. i tried to explain to her that i have a complex, but she doesn't understand, nor does she give a shit, her job is to be critical. duh amanda. so i walk out in to the hall and start crying. and this sweet girl in my class marybeth gives me a hug, tells me last class the woman was really laying into her too, and that i shouldn't let her get to me. well somehow i just couldn't help it, i'm pmsing (i detest using that as an excuse, but aparently i'm more likely to be this nuts this time of the month), there' s eighteen billion other things going on in my head right now, about school and home and life and whether or not i'm headed right for giving up, i might as well at this point. i wrote during philosophy, came out and said all these things i can't say here, because i'm still holding them in, even though they're on paper in my notebook. because if i come out and say it, if i ask for help or something smart like that, omg, someone would probably help me and i might actually be able to succeed in life, but i obviously wouldn't want that to happen. i think this entire post is about four or five run on sentences with misplaced commas and bad grammar, see i can't write, i don't know where gayle and paulie paul and miss donahue ever got the idea that i could, its all bullshit really, techniqually speaking i suck ass, completely.

you know otherwise today was a pretty great day, woke up, showered, got all pretty and stuff and got on a train to go to lunch with stephen, who is probably the sweetest guy in the world. we went to quiznos and then to the mall, where he bought me a nemo pillow that has a pocket with squirt in it, its the cutest thing ever, and he didn't have to, but he did, guess i'm just not used to that. i guess i just wish he were here to hold me like every second...which i know is too much to ask...

i wanted to put up a picture of my nemo pillow with pocketed squirt, but i can't find a pic anywhere online...maybe my darling will bring his camera tomorrow and i can take a picture of it and put it up here...

did you make it to the end of this post? i hope whoever you worship blesses you for that, and if you leave me a comment i could give you a present...no i'm not telling you what it is...its a surprise...remember, you don't have to have a blogger account to comment...hehe, wow...this definitely made me feel slightly better