"She's in love, and the world gets blurry
She makes mistakes, and she's in no hurry to grow up
'Cause grownups, they don't understand her
Well it's a big, big world out there, but she's not scared...
She finds hope in the strangest places
She reads her books, and she knows the faces
Of everyone that ever said she's alone
She knows every word to the saddest songs
And she sings along, though her friends all tell her
That she can't sing...
She's eighteen, much too young
To know what a kiss like that would mean
But her lips, they were no stranger to the touch
And she likes it way too much."
--Mayday Parade, So Far Away

Friday, April 25, 2008

You, My Friend, Are NOT My Friend.

The whining is starting to get to me. The constant complaining, the way people can never seem to have anything good to say. You're all driving me nuts.

Not that I'm perfect and I never whine. I'm actually a big whiner--a big baby, to be entirely honest. But at least I'm conscious of it and I try to hold some of it back...

You all just moan and groan until my ears want to scream in agony. Cut it out. Seriously. Suck it up a little, at least until you have something real to complain about.

Argh. Frustration. Grr. Abby's out.
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