I'm swirling cranberry juice in a wine glass pretending that I am slowly getting smashed. That's what teenagers do right?
Get drunk on friday nights.
Typically not in this fashion, but it's the same really.
Drunk is drunk is drunk.
Which I'm not, because I'm only drinking cranberry juice.
Which while tasting awful is supposed to prevent prostate cancer.
Or something.
Yes I know I don't have a prostate.

I really don't like the side effects of the pills.
I'm thinking about writing a poem.
But I'm not sure.
I remembered my idea that I keep having, which made me happy.
School is almost over for a while.
I'm nervous about the exams.
I suppose I shall spend tomorrow holed up in my room.
I will do everything in my power to procrastinate.
I do not want to study for social.
Social exams are historically just meant to mess up our minds.
I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna.

It's almost over, and I'm sitting here pretending to get drunk in an effort to forget that I don't have black hair and I'm not sullen and sulky and half way to death. Sorry. Maybe if I write a poem I'll be more intelligent.