I just spent 8 hours straight doing drama coursework. I feel considerabley ill. My mother is downstairs reading through it now. 20 pages. eurgh.
I was thinking about The Boy Who I Love today. I was thinking about all the tiny, insignificant moments we've spent together. Some of them weren't that tiny. some of them were just a few seconds long. no time he's ever spent in my company has meant anythign to him, but it's all meant something to me. And i can close my eyes and replay them in my head anytime i like.
I talk to all my friends but they're all silent. They are bear some grudge against me that i can't grasp. but maybe it's all in my imagination. maybe everything is in my imagination.