So I'm sitting on the bed with my sister, Kiya. We have found balls of red clay. I look at her and go, "We're going to write a journal on songmeanings. What should it be called?" She sticks the ball of clay under her glasses and says, "Oh no. My lens is blurry." Of course, that's what I put as the title. And now I am wondering if I even spelled "lens" the right way.

This is my 3rd journal today...but I need help!! Which button do you press to send the message?? I CAN NOT for the life of me figure out how to do it. How am I supposed to send messages?? Ugh. Anyway, for those who have messaged me, thanks. I'm not sure we'll be finishing the story, though. See, Dillon and I are originally from Newport, RI. I'd be proud, except for the fact that we don't live on the good side of Newport. Yeah...anyway, my mom, dad, sister, brother, and I have moved to Virginia, and Dillon had come to visit us. He was unfortunately only able to stay for a couple of weeks--school and other bogus--and he asked me not to finish it without him. A lot of people have been telling me to finish it, so I'll see what I can do. But no promises. According to him I have a big head and a big mouth, and according to me, he's stubborn. Lol. But it was really sweet. Before he left, he wrote a story about me on Wattpad. I don't think I know myself as well as he does. It's called "Goodbye: From Dillon." Thanks everyone!!

I have nothing better to do, so I am going to go on one of my rants again. It's about raspberries. As you could probably tell from the title of this... Why do we pronounce raspberries as "raz-ber-ries?" I mean, HELLO. There's a p in there. So why not say it as "rasp-ber-ries?" It's like northern people saying "cah" instead of "car." I would know...I live in New England. It just makes me mad. I feel like raspberries aren't getting the respect they need. Such an awesome fruit. I mean, can you think of any other English word--assuming the word is in fact English--that has a silent p? I've heard of a silent g, k, h, b, l, w, and more. But never of a silent p. Except maybe in psychotic...or psychiatrist...or pneumatic. Well you know what they say about assuming. I'm done here. --Deuces. Juice.

I am having issues. Today has just been terrible. First, I long onto here and see that I have a reply to my journal. I'm like, "YAY! My first reply!" Then I realize I have no idea how to reply to it. So I send the guy a message. Then I couldn't figure out how to actually send it. So I have no idea if it sent. Then I come back here to write this...and I see the reply button at the top. I don't feel like typing all of that over again!!! Ugh. Somehow I feel like typing this though... Anyway...I have these two bestfriends. Their names are Sir Buttercup-a monkey-and Master Fluff-an elephant. Before you ask, they are NOT stuffed animals, despite the fact that they're furry and filled with cotton. I refuse to believe that. They are very loyal. I can tell them anything...and they won't tell a soul. Well, I was eating watermelon on my bed today...and dropped Master Fluff in the juice in the bowl. My best friend is currently drowing in the washer machine. How do you think that makes me feel? After that I find out some news about the psychotic mind that calls himself my father. I would handle this situation myself, but I'll end up in juvie, or in the hospital because of other inmates or guards. Besides, I promised my lawyer that I'll no longer fix my problems using my fists. Which sucks ass. I'd give anything to punch that fucker... Well, my mom made some baked spaghetti. I have to go eat. And try not to stab anyone with a fork while I'm at it.

So I have this best friend, Dillon. He's been to Hell and back, he smokes weed, and has a very bad temper. All week long he's been singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star from beginning to end. Yesterday he went around screaming GIVE ME A "B"!! And today he's been singing..."Wake up, warm up. Come on everybody! Clap your hands, bend your knees, tap your feet!" I think his therapist has been putting something in his water. I blame her. Anyway...one time, when I was like nine, he spilled hot chocolate all over my Halloween costume and told me I had to clean it up myself. I was so mad. I could have killed him. It was hot too! I seriously thought I was gonna have third-degree burns on my stomach. Well, a few days ago, he logs into my Wattpad account and changes my info. I have listed 25 facts about me, and he changes #24 to: Dillon Ray Adams is a sexy beast and I don't know what I'd do without him. He changes my status and sends messages to all of my fans. Earlier today he tells me we should write a story together. I thought it was a great idea...until we started writing and he laid out his rules. 1) My name has to be Dillon in the story. 2) I get to type. 3) I get to decide what our characters say. 4) If I don't like it...it's gone. 5) It is going to be VERY theatrical. 6) I get to name the killing squad. 7) Your character has to be emo. He writes these down on a sticky note and sticks it to the computer screen. So we are now writing a story on Wattpad about an emo girl that's being hunted down by a group of killers called No Mercy--he named it--and her "incredibly sexy" neighbor, Dillon, has to keep her safe. For those who want to know...it's called Trigger Me. I really don't expect it to go anywhere...

Well, I'm done now. I've typed all the anger out of my system.