You think that you have everything figured out finally . . . And you do, really, you have it all figured out, except then everything falls apart. I'm not sure exactly what course of events brought me to this conclusion, it's more like a heap of jumbled memories.

I think life is composed of jumbled emotions, and I'm trying to sort them out through the medium of cryptic writing, or maybe I'm not. Perhaps I'm just trying to bring some order to the things I see, and in reality I know nothing of life or anything that surrounds it. I think I'm full of shit.

Great things can come out of being full of shit, though. Perhaps Freak is completely out of his mind. He thinks he has everything figured out, and maybe he is close to it, but how he goes about throwing his thoughts together perhaps isn't the greatest way.

No offense to him, of course. Just you can never have everything figured out, there's always a loophole. I don't care if you're god himself, you'll never have everything figured out. I thought I did, but I was wrong. Maybe my self-doubt is making me feel wrong when I am right. God knows. Or does He?

I want to know everything, I'm sick of feeling like myself. I want to change into someone else, and feel what they're feeling. I want to be the girl in the yellow shirt. I want to feel everything there is to feel, I feel so incomplete.

Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Most people are thinking "Isn't he a little young to be talking so deep?", Bah, fuck you, age has no meaning or reason. Course, I did just say "fuck you" so some of my age is showing through. Course, I know 45 yearolds who have dirtier mouthes than I, so who really knows anymore.

Nothing is happening, Thanksgiving is tommarow and I have to clean this room. Walking into this room is like walking into, well, a very very big mess. I could say "a warzone" or "an area that a tornado just hit" but that's stupid. I don't know. A terrible pain is nagging at my stomach, it's digesting it's own organic walls.

I think I hurt Sara's feelings yesterday, maybe she hates me now, I don't know. What am I susposed to do? Email her and apologize? Duh. Of course I should, but something in me prevents me from doing that, like something is punching me in the stomach and saying "Don't apologize you dumbass. Even if you are a dumbass, don't apologize." I should just kill myself.

"You realize you wrote 'She gets the bull and stuff', right?"

"*laughs* I don't know how to spell bowl, alright!"

"B O W L, it's not difficult"

"Ah, whatever," she smiles at me and erases her mistake.