I can't keep a single fuckin' promise to myself.

I can keep your pathetic secrets, but I can't help myself.

And I hate it. I hate how no matter how sincere I am with myself, there hasn't been a single vow that I have followed through with.

I don't like helping other people, either. I don't care how much you are "thankful" for whatever the fuck I do (which, in most cases, is not interrupting while you spill your heart out), in the end, I'm never pleased.

Why can't I do something for myself once in a while? To make myself better, to help me in the long run? All the time that I spend on this fuckin computer, writing to you, the dependent reader who finds interest in someone else's bland, unjust life. You know what I could be doing right now? Stomach crunches, because I am becoming the lazy fat ass everyone said I would turn into. But hey, I put the ungrateful before me : 'u havnt written in ur journal in a while. rite sumfin!'

Well, I'm writing something. And I hope you take this into consideration next time you ever confront me about this.

- Molly{6:45 pm}

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