Tomara says my behavior sounds normal. Maybe that's why Chad always laughs when I call myself crazy; he's worked in a psychiatric hospital.
But what else can I be? I lash out at friends. I purposefully self-sabatogue my true vocation. I channel this crazy shrew bitch when ever things don't go my way, but only with the things I dictate myself to do.
My mother calls it dramatics, which just her way of say act like a normal angry person. So I am crazy, fucked up in the head and nothing to cure it.
At least I don't go around eating people.
Apologizing doesn't work. I suppose I can't blame people. Who wants to stay around a screaming crazy cussing shrew?
Still I had to go to Chad. Since I couldn't email the stupid file for the CD-ROM handout for the Teachers' Workshop and by the time I see him again on Friday, he wouldn't have anytime to work on it. And I found the missing notes. And I figured out that scanning the stupid black and white pics in full color probably attributed to the huge file size.
Last night was not a night for winning. And I probably ruined a friendship with it.
Read Free!
The BookWorm
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