Why must everything have a title?

I cried myself to sleep last night.

It's funny; the source of all my misery was over something materialistic. A bracelet. Now, I'm guessing that most of the people who read this are somwhat smart, and can put two and two together and guess that this bracelet is special.

So let's see, why is this bracelet so special? Well, it was a gift from my best friend the last time I saw her, and pretty much the last time I talked to her, almost five years ago. It's nothing spectacular, it's got pink wooden beads that smell like strawberries, and it's stretchy. I can't wear it anymore, because the elastic is broken, just like my friendship.

Frickie comforted me last night. She always knows when I'm upset. She came and layed down next to my head and licked my cheek, as if to say, "It's okay, everything will be alright," but it's not, and it won't be.

Everything is crazy these days. People are getting used to actually doing homework again, (I have another fucking essay due tomorrow,) Krystal was depressed again today, and no amount of random hugging was making her feel any better, and this one girl, who just happens to be in three of my classes, was hit by a car the other day, when a car crashed into the bus stop that she was waiting at. Apparantly, shes okay, but her foot hurts. I personally have never broken ten bones in my foot at one time, but I can imagine how it feels.

On a happier note, I found a blue styrofoam hat and I love it.