I think Ricky secretly enjoys stressing me out. He knows I'm in a constant state of worry over everything even if it doesn't pertain to me personally. I worry about him and his dad and all the little things that go along with them; I worry about my parents and what my friends think of me; I worry about the people that I work with for school. Not to mention that I worry about myself, my grades, what my living situation will be in the fall, the fact I may or may not get into my program because they only accept 50 people, and all of these other things.
But then dear Ricky comes and adds to the pile! I think I deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for not going postal and destroying things. So, Mr. Obama, get on that for me, will ya? You seem to know the people that could hook me up with one. Oh, by the way, I'd also like a trip to Moldaur, maybe stop by Venus for awhile, if that's not asking for too much. You do that for me, and my associates and myself will keep your true identity secret, got that? Thanks.
"There is a condition worse than blindness, and that is seeing something that isn't there."
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