It's lunch. I'm sitting at McDonalds.

Haven't heard from the professor at WSU in the Film and Theater department. I might not until fall since it's summer.

I don't know how I can work at McDonald's again. I've been there before.

Haven't heard from someone in an educational setting.

So very sick of everything.

So very sick of everything.

Sick of waiting.

Sick of feeling like I am a solitary person with a solitary life.

Sick of not being paid what I'm worth. I'm making in a week what I should be making a day.

It's disgusting.

Just sick of everything.

When is this going to end?

When are the doors going to open?

I can't wait for the day when someone says my story/mom's story should be known and they give me an enormous amount of money for it and I can buy a huge house. I would move my aunt in.

That would be justice. It would be justice.

I lived this story and I want some money for it. I have lived this life I tell about (except for the end that is in my book). I lived it and I think it would be right if I got some money, because it's been rough and tough. Other people have lived crummy lives and have gotten money for telling their story. I've lived a good life and interesting in a way, and I want some money, too.

I have a passionate heart and I want my poetry out in the world, though most of it is dispersed throughout my book. I want the world to see my heart, as I saw someone else's.

It's time, if not overdue.

Cindy