Well, so much for actually writin in this everyday, huh. Last I wrote was May? Damn. Whatever. I'm 18 now. Was my birthday on Sunday. Big whoop. No one even remembered. Not that I care. Maybe I kinda do, but what you gonna do about it? I'm only taking 5 courses this year. Behind like usual. who cares. So much shit happened the past while, I don't know where to start or even if I should. But I guess its better to tell a roomful of strangers my shit, than to write it in a hand-written diary and have your youngest brother read it and know all your secrets. That was fun. Not really. He now knows what kind of a perv his oldest sister is. Well, whatever. I mostly just wrote about this guy. Perverted stuff, sure. Stuff I regret now? Not really. Unless the guy I wrote about read it. Then that would be fucked. I'm not sure how I feel about anything right now. I just think of something, and all that comes to mind is "meh, whatever." My parents are getting mad that i'm being such a moody bitch. They don't see themselves. Everyone is moody. And what? you don't think I'm not sick of my moodiness too? I can't help it half the time. Not really sure what's wrong with me. I feel like shit a lot of the time. Expect when I'm talking to him, or listening to really loud music that drowns all the background noises/feelings/everythings. It sucks, and I wish I could understand why the fuck I'm like this. Wow. So much for not swearing. Whatever. I knew I'd fuck that up too. I want to sleep, or talk to Rob. He's not on. I shouldn't sleep though, thats all I've been doing the past few days. Sleeping and going for long meaningless walks. Even thats getting depressing. Whatever. Everything is a bunch of whatevers.