I have three fucking roommates. THREE. Not one, not two, THREE. God knows what they're like. I'm trying to be as optimistic as possible about this whole thing, but I can't help to think of the worst. And now I'm gunna have to come home all the time for fucking community service. It's just a lot to deal with. I'll deal with it though, like everything else I'm forced to deal with. Like I deal with the shit you put me through. 


It's like I always want the best for the people I love the most. Unless, that is, I begin to suspect that what is best for them is to have a taste of second-best for a while. You're becoming too presumptuous. I'm starting to feel taken for granted. Boys will be boys I suppose. I've never been one to work out differences that I don't deem important. Maybe that's my problem.