It hurts to be in this hopeful, excited, happy place where I think I might actually get to meet my sister, or get to talk to her, or write to her, and then wind up not hearing back from her and am left wondering why, or if she's spoken with my Birth-Mother and my other sister who've probably told her whatever the hell the big secret is that keeps them from wanting to have anything to do with me. So here I am in painful limbo again, acting like a young woman in love who rushes home every day to check her phone messages to see if he called. I hate this.
But hey, I'd rather be wondering why Debra Messing looks like someone pressed a finger into her face just next to her eyebrow and left a dent there, and why did she wear this dress that she keeps having to adjust? She seems way too pale and fleshy for this.
Someone just shoot me and put me out of my misery.
Oh thank God for Beau. He just burst in and is forcing me to watch Robot Chicken with him. He doesn't have school tomorrow, and here are Malibu Kitten and Niki coming to pin down my arms. I still want to eat though, food, food, food, mind-and-hurt-feeling-numbing food...damnit.