And yet now, look: Not even a whole year later! Gainfully employed! Doing hella good in school! (Thass right, kids ... full time job, full time student, and still with enough energy and sexiness to kick your candy-ass...) Workin hard on a path self-decided, changing all sorts of destructive habits ... well, yadda yadda yadda. You get the picture, right? I am the very portrait of mental health.

Yet ironically, I am thankful to be so busy because I've come to hate my friends. Ah, fate, you are a cruel mistress. I've already run down most of the main players a few days ago, but really the crown jewel of them I've yet to get to. You know how they say you have to truly love someone in order to be capable of truly hating them? (No, I don't know exactly who "they" are, or why they say that. Just work with me here.) Well, the friend I've come to loathe most is, quite appropriately, my bestest friend in the whole wide world. Helluva guy, really. We've been like brothers since our early teens. Trust him with my life, I would.

And yet, the very sight of him these days makes me want to go and find something quite sharp and pointy ... and preferably red-hot, as well.