It has been a very weird week. Or, shall I say, weird weekend. I'll start with Saturday, since that's the most notable day.

It was the best Saturday I've ever had. I'm not even kidding. An old friend of mine that I got out of touch with about four years ago, Jessica, found me on Facebook, even though I was never able to find her on Facebook or Myspace or anything. Anyway, she found me, and I was ecstatic. I mean, she was my BEST friend for like, two years before she left. We knew practically everything about each other; the bad and the good. She knew that I used to cut, and she always used to help me. And I knew stuff about her that I'm not going to disclose, and I tried to help her through it in return for what she'd always done for me. I'm pleased to say we still act just like that; we picked up right where we left off, and it's awesome. Jessica truly is my best friend.

Other than that, on Saturday night I went to a party at Caesar's place. For some reason, I always want to call him Josh, but Josh isn't as good a friend as Caesar is. Anyway, we were in the basement and all of a sudden his Grandma comes downstairs and starts, like, dancing. To the music. It was really...odd. Caesar had told us she was eccentric, but man. That old lady can MOVE. (It was a party without drugs or alcohol, I may add. Just a bunch of friends having fun)

On Sunday, I didn't do much. I lazed around the house and wrote a lot of updates on my stories, none of which are really on here anymore. I watched the AMAs. On that note, let me say this: Adam Lambert was not offensive in any way, shape, or form. Sure, his performance was a little racy and risque, but nothing profane or disturbing to little kids. His performance wasn't NEARLY as bad as Eminem's. I mean, really. Is it neccessary to have 30 second lines of (c)rap that need to be bleeped? Really? I wasn't aware that that qualified as music. Anyway, I'd just like to put in my two cents about that. Adam Lambert was amazing, as was his performance. I'm definitely gonna get his CD.

Then, today, things went WAY downhill. One of my friends, Kevin, was up in the San Bernadino mountains (at least, that's what I call them) and he had some sort of accident. He's alive and everything, but I'm not quite sure what the hell happened. Anyway, he wasn't in school today. He was still in the hospital after school, cuz me and my friend Malia went to visit him. He looked like he was doing okay, but he wouldn't say what happened. Hmmm....

Angel wasn't in school today either. I'm not sure what his problem was today; Malia just said he didn't feel like coming to school. We all have days like that, though.

John was there, and that was cool. Malia said that he always talks about me in one of her classes; I don't know why. I'm definitely not the prettiest girl on that campus. But then again, I don't think I'm the worst, either.

And then I get home after school and going to the hospital and shit, only to discover that one of my new kittens, Jesse, is possibly dying.

Dad said that he was acting fine yesterday afternoon, and then last night all of a sudden he didn't really have any balance or shit. He couldn't hardly move, and had no control over his hind legs. Dad called in the vet on special notice, and he was on the IV machine in the vet's office all night. Dad said he was a little better this morning, but they kept him at the vet's office. Then the vet told Dad that Jesse probably has distemper, which REALLY pisses me off, because the guy we got him from told us Jesse had all of his fucking shots. The vet told Dad that, if he makes it through tonight, Jesse's chances of living go up significantly. I think it's also good that we got him to the vet right away, otherwise it may have been too late no matter what the vet did for him. They're going to keep him for observation for awhile.

But the whole fact of Jesse getting sick is just downright suspicious. Mom's fish just died yesterday, and then Dakota's been throwing up lately too. I think my Dad's really pissed that I'm getting along great out here, because he told me the day we left that he didn't agree with me leaving, and that I should just stay there. I swear to God, if he touches Tommy, I'll fucking hate him. I'll never talk to him again; and I mean that quite literally. I went four and a half months without talking to my Dad once, when I found out he was lying to me about his alcoholism. And I went six months without talking to my Uncle Gordie when he put down my dog without even letting me know. So if Dad thinks I won't do it to him again, he's fucking wrong. I know that's not nice to say, but Tommy is my baby. If Dad has a problem with me being out here, fine. He can take it out on me. But my animal didn't do anything to him, so he shouldn't bring them into it. Anyway, I'm going to end this journal because I simply have other things to do (like Government homework)