Hee! I'm too tired to come up with a line, but you made me remember S's face when I told him the superlarge tshirt thing popular on the street was like guys wearing a dress.Which made me laugh for a moment.

And he's in a institutional facility now. He wouldn't stay in school at great-grandma's, he kept running away from the county group home courts first put him at. He kept running back to great-grandma. Courts put him at Fayette Street (from what I understand, a low-risk juvie) until he's 18. Very limited family visits. Pretty much them visiting him. It kills me. He's a sweet kid who is gonna get fucked by the system. He's a crack baby, with a mental age likely to be stuck at around 12. But a sweet boy, who could handle the responsibility of watching my cats and loved it and took such joy in it. And now I fear the best parts of him are going to end up used for the worst parts of this city.

Um, sorry. Ran into neighbor, got the latest, got depressed and somehow it became mememe.

woot! it only took, what, over an hour, to write the fucking poem. I've got to write another one now. I hate this assignment.

Write the next one about how much you hate the assignment. Poetry is easier when it's fueled by emotion.

Opening line: "My back hurts and I want to stab people." The rest of the poem should write itself!

Heroes made Joe a little misty eyed.

I don't want to go to bed, because if I do, it will be tomorrow, and then I'll have to go to work again.

sigh

If you feel like it Allyson, you can come write this paper for me. It's making me cry and want to quit school. And it's not even my final project.

Will you finish editing my book? I'm all procrastinatey, and I'm in the home stretch. Ruby is snoozing on the pillow next to me, and she looks so comfy and peaceful. Not a care in the world.

Friggin cat.

Will you finish editing my book?

Love to. I understand your book, which is something I can not say about what I'm supposed to be writing in this paper.

I'll come write it for you, Aimee. What's your address?