the little acorn

i was sitting in a rolling chair, watching bridget jones's diary tonight, when the phone rang. i picked it up to hear clinton, whom i hate with a fiery passion, proclaim his love to me, by singing me a song which went like this "i just want you to know/i love you". after the little bastard hangs up on me, like usual, i get hysterical. heavy breathing. wet eyes. i call anna. she picks up the phone on the fourteenth or so ring, and i start hyperventalating over the phone to her. clinton has driven me insane. the boy cannot seem to understand the fact that no matter how he feels, i really don't give damn. never have, never will. i even told him to get the fuck out of my life and never call me again. but no, he apparently did not hear me. his insistent pestering has driven me over the edge. me and anna are supposed to go to a movie tommorow. i was going to not go because i was afraid of seeing people we knew. i was especially afraid of seeing clinton. yes. i was, and still am a little bit, scared to go out of the house on the off-chance that i might see clinton. i hate him.