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Comihng to you live.... - litla [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
litla

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Comihng to you live.... [Jun. 12th, 2009|10:06 am]
litla
From my.. office? I guess you can call it that. It's more like the platoon sergeant's office. Remember when I said that I had to give a statement on Wednesday? Well, it never happened. Now, I am giving it today. And hoping that it doesn't take forever, because I have tons of shit to get done today. And by tons I mean, cleaning my room and a dentist appointment. Why is it, that I'm 23 years old and they still feel the need to tell me to clean my room.

Don't get me wrong, my room is not a pig sty. I have nothing lying around that should not be there. My floor is sans clothing and piles of garbage. I do have a few totes lying around, but I'm still trying to get my stuff together. You know, all the shit that I forgot to have the movers pack? Yeah, I have to mail that all home. And let me tell you, it's a lot. Just picture this, the moves had 17 boxes that they packed up into their tiny little bongo truck with the Lamborghini style vertical doors. Now, I still have more that needs to go. At least when I get my own apartment, I'll have enough stuff to function.

Anyway, so I'm sitting in the office, apparently twiddling my thumbs because I have to wait for the commander to come home - or to work - so that I can give her my statement and she can sign it as a witness. Loverly. Not only that, but as I sit here typing this little message to all of you out there that actually read this crazy thing, that chick that I was talking about is standing outside the office door, waiting as well. With loser number 2. Or could he be number 1, because he's the one she originally got caught with. And the funny thing is, every time she walks passed the door, she tries to give me the evil eye. Like she knows why I'm here.

Not that I care, because she means shit to mean, and hey! if you want to keep on keeping on, who am I to tell you to stop? Again. You didn't want to listen the first time, well I'll make sure you stop. I could care less if the bitch hates me. Worthless piece of shit that she is. It doesn't hurt my feelings any if you don't like me. Keep whispering out in hall like the little child that you are.

Anyway.. I'm dying here.. I can't wait... Six more days.. That's all... Just. Six. More. Days.

TTFN

~~me
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