Man, I suck
I'm supposed to be writing a TV column. 450 words. I got nothing. Nooooooooooooooooooothing.
And, I need to get this out of my brain:
I wish MY worst problem was that people at work had started a rumour I was pregnant. Because I would much rather wake up with that inside my brain than my Dad died. If that was all I had to worry about, it would mean my Dad was still here.
And, you know what? I didn't start the rumour. I thought we were friends. So if you think I didn't start it, why bring it up eeeeeeeeevery time? Why?
It wasn't me.
You know what? It doesn't even matter anymore.