you know, if you’re the type that likes to get amped on adarol or coke or meth or whatever, then pack a bowl and get baked, and then instead of studying for your group french project, tweak out in floor of your livingroom with a train schedule of Paris…

don’t get in my group.

and then, in class, right before it’s our turn to give our presentation, as you realize i’m pissed… don’ t apologize for being “cracked out” the night before, adding that you’re “cracked out” right now, and don’t look surprized when i say “i know,” because it’s obivious: you still have the same clothes on as last night–the very same ones you had on at class yesterday. 

you know i that know that you didn’t sleep last night, and that all you’re thinking about is where you’re gonna be when you come down.

not grades,

not that it’s all gonna catch up with you,

not that it’s inconsiderate to do all that shit around people who’s families have been destroyed by users and using.


is ciavarro indian?


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edit: i saw my ex-ex Dana at school last night and very coincidentally again today at lunch… really can’t deal with that so well, so i’m heading to the nearest “happy hour,” (knew there was a good reason they called it that), and to the closest bottle of southern comfort.


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