times that I realize I am whitebre(a)d.

there was that one time Ian, Ben, and I were jumping into the river from the rope, and these Latinos were watching us from the bridge, laughing. waiting. they wanted to know if I'd jump off. And then there were druggies that missed "4:20", actually drinking liquor from brown paperbags(I thought that was a stereotypical joke). They got in their car, and I realized they were driving drunk, and I wanted them to not be alive. I was wondering, why are they alive and not the sort of people who don't drive drunk? But I think Jesus would have been nice to them.

I remember sitting in somebody's living room I didn't know. They were both deaf, and my friend was talking to them, and I wanted more than anything to be home, under my covers where I was safe from what I didn't want to realize, I just wanted it to stay in the magazines. That was the first time I realized I was whitebread.

It's too late, tonight. I just keep hearing Franz Ferdinand in my head. When I am mad, they are singing "I'm cheating on you...I'm cheating on you." But when I'm sad, they are too, and Paul is singing, "So come on home....come on home, but don't forget to leave." and I'm so tired of everything.