Inside My Soul

So, what's up with my postman lately? He never seems to want to actually deliver things to INSIDE my mailbox. Sometimes he'll put them right next to the mailbox before he hauls ass down my street, and for like, the past two weeks, there are days at a time he won't even come by at all.

I'm starting to think that it's something I did. I mean, here's the thing. I like to do a little research on my postal people, since they're going to come by my house all the time and sometimes I have to sign stuff (I'm GARY STEVENSON, for those of you wanting to send things to me off my ...

DAmmit. Stupid Catherine with her problems. I swear, every time I sit down to actually DO SOMETHING and I finally come up with SOMETHING GOOD TO SAY that girl has to open her damn foodhole and bitch at me.

I"ll write later. Something sad happened to me today but also something good and i don't know if I"m ready to write about either of them but know that it involves music, food, the phone, my need of a car, my television's remote control, the dust that collects near my bathtub, my gas bill, this lady I met over the Internet about a zillion years ago (doesn't it seem that way, SCH?), my parents, Precious, Precious' upcoming birthday, THanksgiving, so many laughs that my eyes still hurt from squinting, and the stupid fucking bitch at the bottom of my well.

WHEW! I guess I have a lot to say! I hope I can get to it soon!

My stupid guestbook is broken. I guess until then you'll have to sign this dumb thing. I hate it and it's dumb, but the stupid guestbook only works like, once in a great while and there are so many of you that love me so it gets all stuck because I don't know much about computers. I"ll fix it later. Maybe. I should really kill Catherine first.

Sign the guestbook.