i feel

like i owe this thing a decent update.
why do i even have it? i don't know.

anywho.
it's now thursday. i'm in kierstin's room, eating sunships garden salsa, drinking diet coke, about to call elizabeth hicks so we can reminisce back to our young lives which consisted of cruel jokes about others and her once-love for hello goodbye. HA.

i had a dream my directors were like "sammy, we lied to you, you're really not that good. you're gonna make a fool of yourself at smu." and then i splashed oj all over them, taking off in such a frenzy that i, myself, left my bag there, only to come back but proceed with a more verbal bashing. i was mad. then i woke up to my phone alarm (which is the angry beavers theme song), snoozed it every five minutes from 10-12 noon, brushed my teeth, fell back asleep, woke up at one-ish, took a shower, and now i'm here.

i'm just tired is all, s'pose.
it's out of my hands now.

now i'm going to re-read this and see if it's worthy enough.
* * *
read it, it's still wimpy.
how do i juice this up with philosophical meaning and profound advice?
ne-v-er-m-in-d.
love, samantha.