It's Not What I Took From You, It's Not What I Stole... We Are Born Like This.

So, doesn't it kind of scream something when someone only messages you or contacts you when they want something? Especially sex? A red flag goes up, I know. It tells me: you are an OBJECT. He doesn't care about you as a person: he cares about your body. And yet I am still drawn in, ignoring all the signs. Oh well, I just have issues like that. It's inevitable anyways, I may as well accept it. I don't know why some people see my as an object. I'm not "smokin' hot" or anything. Eh, whatever. Seems to be my motto lately I guess. just not caring. Anyways..

Grandma Fox died today, this morning. I am always the last person to find out everything. Even fucking Lillian knew before me and she isn't even related to Grandma. Eh, don't matter. I just hope Bernice isn't depressed for a long time. It will reflect on me. That's just what I need. On top of school, emotions, and work, I don't need to deal with her. I have sever depression, says my stupid little papers. And her being miserable it bound to reflect on me.

So, this just raises the count more. Let me see... I'm going to try to do this in order, and I will probably miss some. Oh well.

Mom.. who deserved it.

Grandpa.

James Gardener.. I think. I will always know him as Jimminy Cricket.

Uncle Jerry.

Uncle Leo.

Uncle John. [Schoenneman]

Uncle John. [Strzezewski]

Grandma Fox.

And a few more who I was aquainted with and grew to like.

Shit happens, nothing I can do about it.