(I’m staying up the night before the math test. I’m convinced that I can do no more preparation, but I’m worried that if I sleep I may be missing out some crucial practice, so here I am, blogging and writing a story.)
The first thing to run out in a fire is time.
Confucius say, when emo man smoke grass, he turn green and get cut by blade.
I spend half my lifeforce thinking up lame smart-sounding things like that. I have a weird bruise on my knee that I don’t recall having before I made a few wisecracks on the mass MSN convo. It’s like, every time I make a wisecrack, I’m actually cracking MYSELF.