Stop Exaggerating.

So Michael isn't really mad at me. (no, not you, michael lovely.) He thought I was mad at him. Go figure, we're still in high school after all. I made drunken chaplain cookies today, and I can see my reflection in my stapler.
I do not know what I want from life. I do not know how I am going to get to sleep tonight. I do not know why my back has more pimples on it now than when i lived at home, even though I shower more now.
I do not know why I am in school when I could be going to learn to cut hair and doing something, albeit something stupid, with my life.
I have this exsistential crisis about once a week. I do not want to have this existential crisis any more. It's 3 ae em.
And I'm talking to a wall via text messages.