crispy shrimp and packed away

This is pretty surreal. My whole room is BARE. All my pictures and wall hangings, my bulletin board, my constant clutter.. its all gone, either thrown out, stored away in the garage until I come home or packed up in the hallway waiting to be put in the car. Today was packing day, I did as much as possible, then Matt and I went to youthgroup because I just wanted to go one last time. This caused me to remember why I dont go anymore (everyone is so young now and no matter what, I will always sit there thinking back to when we had pastor Jon), but it was kinda nice to see pastor chris and everyone again, and it would have been rude I think not to say good bye to Erin..kinda. Anyway, when I came home I helped my mom a little more then I went out to Applebee’s with Kat Sunny and Tina. Bought time I saw them again, sluts <3. Sunny printed out 3 8×10 copies of the Triple D's pictures, and we all signed our names next to ourselves in it. Our waitress asked if we were famous or something because the picture actually looks really nice, and when in the septone color and blown up like that, they look professional, not to mention we were all signing them. But as soon as I got home I put it in a frame and packed it up to take with me. But anyway, by the time I got home my mom had completely finished my room. Its empty, save my bed and dresser and vanity. She was crying when I came in. She just is sad, which is understandable. She's like "You grow up so fast and I still remember you as my baby girl. And Im left thinking, was I there for her enough? Did I do a good job? Because its like now Im kind of just sitting back and watching where you take yourself to." =(

Tomorrow is my last day in Jersey. I cant squeaze everyone in but im trying really hard.

Until next time, its good to bond with ex-enemies.
<3Che

ps.
Im thinking of making another journal but just for family to read, so that my mom and dad and everyone can keep tabs on me. Of coarse, it would be censored but we'll see, it's just an idea.

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