Oh, I could kill him! I could absolutely kill him! Twenty five minutes ago I was tired, worn out by an exhausting double at work and quite ready for bed, but now my blood is surging and I am anything but tired. The nerve! I ask you! I don't think I should let it pass lightly, to be honest with you; just as with dogs and children, boyfriends will continue bad behavior if left unchecked. But I ask you! Am I a fucking dog owner? A mother? I think not! Gngngngngnkigkjfsdjksgkj!!!

Argh. Anyways. Things are as they usually are. I've been working a lot lately in preparation for school and for a trip to Paris, the thought of which would be much more enjoyable were I not traveling by the good grace of the aforementioned jackass. My birthday was last Sunday, which was absolutely perfect- the aforementioned jackass was not a jackass at all last weekend, but rather a perfect gentleman, regardless of his current jackass status- and yesterday I ordered an expensive, delightfully unnecessary digital SLR camera. I've made good money all this week at work, too, though I think it might finally be time for me to serve at a fine dining establishment. Everything is fine, with the exception of the boy.

Honestly! It would be too fucking simple if he were logical, wouldn't it? Too ideal, too easy. Real relationships aren't ideal, but rather so stuffed with bullshit at times that the only real solution to the problem is a particularly large bottle of liquor.

The aforementioned jackass just texted me, saying that he acted like a jackass and to please call him. I called him. Why the fuck did I call him? God, I have no spine. I do, however, have a large bottle of liquor. I am a spineless drinker.

At least I drink good liquor.