I threw away the song I wrote for Woody. He obviously doesn't care. That's cool, I guess.

How am I? Still fucking dead.

I fucking hate living. That's pretty much it.

I eat, sleep, and breathe to survive. I maintain a social life to keep my parents from driving me insane.

Yeah, I'm existing but I sure as hell am not living. I can barely put a smile on my face.

When my sister has kids, it's over. When my parents die, it's over.

I can't tell my family. I truly can't and here's why. Because I can't worry them. I can't do this to them right now. This is just bad timing.

I don't know what I'm going to do next but it does not involve telling my family.

fuck. this can't be happening to me right now. what the fuck.