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Thursday, March 8, 2007


Fuck
We all forgot to look up kite shit. Mr. D wants us to research our kites before we can make them.

So, anyway, my room smells like a wet towel. I left one on my bed... my hoodie smells like one too, so I had to chage it for another, the one that was recently washed and is still stiff from air drying (I was going to put hang drying, but I didn't think that made a lot of sense).

I'm getting so sick. I don't feel like doing shit, but I have to. Caleb wants me to send him my favorite personal poem, but my notebook is at home.

How to explain our relationship now... we're just really, really great friends. I love him, but, I guess I just love him because he's so cool and I enjoy our friendship. Watch it turn out to be like me and Alex, I know him for the rest of my life... That will happen.

I'm back into Bjork again. That's why I've put her back up again. Please, listen to "Pagan Poetry" all the way through. The best parts are in the middle.

Take care of yourself.

-Susan

P.S. Peter Cook is the shit. Officially.

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