Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is all your fault. I'm glad I didn't tell you the news.

Talk to me, coward. Respond to me, I'm sick.

I can't believe you. I can't believe you at all. And you know what makes me really mad? Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you, ever. You get everything you want in the exact way you want it. You have no idea, and that makes me really mad.

Symptoms means doctor's office

Taylor and I had the best halloween ever. Our costumes are the best ever. They definitely kick all of your costumes' asses. I'm not kidding, or being sarcastic. I noticed people put up pictures of their costumes and they're all really slutty. Good job! Fact: you suck, we rule! (And yes, we did make them! wooo!)

I am so excited. Saturday morning is too far. Oh, and if any of you blokes do any sort of vandalism to my house, I will give you triple the dosage. 

 ACTs tomorrow mornin'! I'd like nothing more than to spend from 7 to 1 taking a test!

We're all really ugly

Why do I even care about that?

Your death was my fault.