Date: 2004-10-31 08:52 pm (UTC)
To: [more like 'obsession' if you ask me]
From: [disobeying the doctors' orders]
Subject: You're cooking for me now?

They told you to watch me? Jeez. I can take care of myself, you know. The painkillers just make me overly given to emotion, which irritates me more than headaches or a sore arm or whatever. Don't you dare put them in my food, because that is sneaky and you're supposed to be the good half of the room, aren't you? To keep up the mystery about why you like me for all the people who don't.

It was hardly bitter sarcasm. I save that for the idiots. To be honest, I haven't even thought about college. I mean, I don't even know if I'm going to be alive in two years or not. One of the consequences of getting only halfway sacrificed.

Maybe I'll become an X-Man.

(That was a joke.)

The South Americans may be argumentative now, but just you wait. Anyway, yes, do forget, and don't worry about me. I'm good at surviving, remember? It's what I do.

Illyana
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