There is an ad on my myspace at the moment that says "kick the dork". What you do is control a booted foot and aim for this sorry guy with red hair that is dancing like an idiot and when you click it nails him so hard he falls back on his ass. Him and I, I'm guessing, feel the same exact way at the moment. It's amazing. It feels so nice to be throwing someone to the ground. Too bad he's virtual.

Cracking plastic and the shards beneath go flying. Collect them all, connect them all but then she's bursting through the door with a "honey is everything alright? Shoog, you seem real down. What's rong?" and I am scurrying to throw all evidence in my small trashcan. Push out an "I dont want to talk about it" sit on the bed and expect her to leave. Does it ever happen that way? No. No it doesn't. I couldn't be that lucky. I really shouldn't talk about luck. I am lucky she cares and she bothers and pesters me until I give in because honestly, who else would I talk to about how fucked I am? No one wants to hear it but her.

So yeah okay we talk and I cry, nothing new. That's all I do when we talk. My eyes are so red and raw I'd rather pull them out with my foot long nails that I've become too lazy to cut. Rip them right out. My nose hurts from blowing it so much. If you saw me you'd think I was sick perhaps. She is the only one thats ever seen me this way. Her only advice? TALK TO HER ABOUT HOW YOU FEEL. My response? I kind of... don't feel. I don't. I think I'm finally dead and that's almost comforting. Then as she's about to leave she asks me if I've done anything stupid lately and I can't help it, my eyes grow to the size of fists and my I swallow hard. She says, because I don't know, I got this bad feeling like you had or you were going to. You seemed really upset downstairs. And I shift my gaze to the garbage. She looks over at it and see's that it's overflowing and she takes it out to the garbage outside for me. No more questions asked. I curse myself for being so fucking dumb. If I had just looked elsewhere I'd still have the fucking shattered plastic. I'd still have my way of feeling better. Now I don't.

And you know, this is really nothing like the "new me". This isn't the way she thinks. I was happy and now I'm not. Just because her thoughts are locked doesn't mean I don't get told about them. Or maybe it's more like your thoughts. I don't know what I'm saying. I have a lot of "friends" they tell me a lot of "things". I just have to believe them. This is my fault anyway. I told you to be happy.

Don't you dare assume anything. Don't you dare.

I could really use my sister right now.