Damn.
I feel like a fugitive.
Every time that gate clicks open and I see my parents whisk away in the Merc, I lunge toward the running computer and grab the fucking mouse and type.
I need to blog.
My creative energy is clogged up inside of me, waiting to be let out. And every time I am forced to ignore it.
Writing is
so passe.I hate writing out my feelings, cos' mom or the shortpigfucker will somehow find it and read it.
Mom doesn't know how to use a blog, still.
Going
somewhere next Friday. Maybe i'll snap lots of pictures and post em up here when I am finally free.
Who knows.
Anything's possible!!
(Read the title, and you'll know what's this post about. Ignore, please.)