I remember caring. I remember trying so hard to entertain them, so they'd like me. Maybe I could make them laugh long enough for me to slip into some crack in their tightly woven circle.

What's so wrong with trying to pretend that your friends value you as more than just someone to laugh with (at)? It didn't hurt anyone. Not them, anyways. And they're the ones that matter, right? I've made that perfectly clear to myself.

As they say, "De Nile ain't just a river in Egypt, eh?"

All the hurt I was trying to protect myself from then, just a tad here and there, something that I would have grown used to and eventually become numb to has congealed itself into such a writhing, angry mass that I doubt I'll be able to fend it off in my weakened state. It's coming for me. I can feel it's slimy, prickly tendrils tapping on my skull. Practice swings.

But the question is should I wait for it to strike? Or should I save myself the agony and give them back their precious air space?

What will they think; pity, disgust, anger, confusion? Let them feel anything so long as it's something. Well, I'll have to decide my plan of action soon.

No sense spending all that money on me for college if I'm not going to be there to collect on it.

Waste not, want not.