It's not like her life is a mess, OK? She's cruising through her AP classes this semester, and whatever so maybe she doesn't attend them ALL, and her teacher's starting to ask questions but sometimes she's got so many thoughts going round her head that she just doesn't have time to sit through an hour of French for losers or whatever it is that's being shoved down her throat these days.

She's still got her Cheerios uniform firmly in tact, and she might still be near the bottom of the pyramid, but she definitely impressed Coach Sylvester with her round-off the other day, even if she's been a bit sub-par on her stretching lately and had to ice down her legs that evening.

And yeah, even Mr Schue has commented that she's been in a bit of a daze the past few weeks (nice of him to take his eyes off Miss Pillsbury's tits long enough to notice what's going on with the bunch of over-emotional losers that is Glee Club) but, frankly, no one is paying attention when Berry's harpying away for hours on end.

She's just got so many damn feelings. Like, seriously sometimes she can't even move it's like they're weighing her down so much; between that and the new extra weight on her chest (totally worth it) it's a wonder she ever gets enough air beneath her for a 360 basket. Most evenings she just lies in bed listening to her homegirls Alanis and Adele in a weed-filled smog.

She's not sad. I mean, she and Britt totally resolved things after she refused to do some stupid duet with her (and gave Stubbles McCripplepants a bit of a talking to, but whatever like Britt was ever gonna stick with that loser). And OK maybe she feels a little like she's going to throw up her own heart when she thinks about rejecting Britt, but she's used to that by now; that's the way she always feels when she thinks about Britt. That's just the way things are.

She just wishes, you know, her life didn't feel so fucking out of control. Like, she wants to succeed; not just at knocking Fabray and Berry off their fucking high horses, but seriously getting out of this shithole, to New York and Columbia, because she fucking knows she's that good, even if Rachel Berry thinks her only career destination is a pole. Success is like the most important thing to her, next to Britt. So if she wants it so bad, why is it so hard to get out of bed in the morning?

All these feelings should fucking go away. Like she really does not have time for them right now. She can barely think about Cheerios or her work because all she's ever aware of any more is that she loves her best friend.

And she always has, you know? She's always loved Britt. She's Britt. And Britt knows that. But somehow that's not enough, not any more. Because suddenly there's this sickening fear that Britt's going to run off with that four-eyed loser, or Mike who she's always loved dancing with, or some guy from the football team and Santana's just going to be left their, choking on all of her own feelings.

But the biggest fear of all is telling Brittany. Admitting to her how deep these feelings go, when she can't even admit it to herself… because she swears yesterday they were just making out because it was fun and they're both totally smokin and suddenly all these fucking lovesongs make sense to her. Because what's going to happen, they're going to skip off into the sunset together? She can't do that, OK, she just can't. She can't tell Britt how she feels because then it's real, and she just can't fucking deal with all that emotion. And worst of all she can't bear the idea that she'd put it out there, on the line, and Britt would just smile and tell her she loves her too, but she can't be with her… and then the entire world knows she wants ladybabies with her best fucking friend but instead she's alone, humiliated, with all of these feelings.

And that's just more than she can fucking handle.