my life is basically '13 going on 30' in reverse.
i thought the fault in our stars was one of the best books i've read in years, despite it being a f**king cryfest apocalypse. but ZERO and i mean ZERO of the friends i have forced urged to read it have shed one single tear. am i friends with complete robots, or did this book manage to somehow shoot a tiny silver bullet through my cold dead heart and force my eyes to leak a strange watery substance never before released while i read the last third its pages?
i think tomorrow i'll post a classified ad for new friends. or at least a cragslist missed connection on behalf of their lost souls.