It's just a crapshoot, but it's mostly crap...

"Flowers are Pretty" + "Fucked up Girl" + "That's My Girl" = ME!
My life can totally be summed up by a series of Vandals songs! It's science!

Listening to "Flowers are Pretty" totally makes me think of my tumor, Alexander. I thought it deserved a regal name. Hell yeah, non-cancerous tumors made of fat! I love that my body loves to fuck with me like that. Like, "Oh yeah, you're totally gonna have weird health things but they won't be fatal! You aren't getting out that easily!"

So nine more days. It's making me crazy. Part of me cannot fucking wait to get out of here, to have my own life again instead of just "existing" ....sitting a room all day and night...like I am right now, just being pissed off and in control of nothing. I'm also really fucking scared though. It's not like I'm going back to anything familiar...I mean maybe my room and my car, but that's about it. Nothing that matters will be "normal" or "the same"....who knew that when I decided to stay out here I was apparently making a choice that was so far-reaching and entirely out of my control. And I had no idea, about any of it. Sometimes I am really thick.

If I get back to San Diego and end up doing nothing, just sitting on my ass and never leaving....just "existing" like I am here, someone put me out of my misery. Otherwise I'll end up shooting someone, swear to god. Ha.

Forgive my emotasticness......

This picture is emotasticness personified, in case you needed a visual aid.

.....I've got the pre-bloody vag crazies and I'm just waiting anxiously until my uterus decides to do its monthly attempt at kicking its way out of my body, painfully. Then I crack open the ambien stash. It will be epic, let me tell you.