I've sent so many e-mail this afternoon/evening that I can no longer count them. I've delivered one rather random unexpected and somewhat weird card to the girl down the street. That involved me walking around the block three times while her mother watched me from their kitchen window, and finally just leaving it in the mail box, and then proceeding to walk to the neighbourhood highschool and pretend that I was a good Cathloc student and not a crazy neurotic person who wishes they could mutter to themselves in a different language. Just to be eccentric.

I talked to a boy tonight. He was going to remain nameless but I figured that wouldn't do any good anyway. I talked to Sanford. The one and only. By talk I of course mean on MSN, seeing as how delivering a card nearly caused me to have a stroke. Talking to him makes me both happy and guilty. Guilty because I've been told on numerous occasions that we hate Sanford. But really I like him. He's nice most of the time, and most of the time the person who hates him can't even see me. So screw that I say. However there is still guite a bit of guilt.

I'm tired of being cryptic. Anthony, Sanford is not evil. Sometimes you are not a good person to listen too.

I must go to bed now. Goodnight.