Lana feels

I'm sick of fighting with my friends. Sick of my friends fighting with each other. Sick of being "the common ground." It was no choice of mine to make friends who can't stand each other. As I remember it, there was a time when they could deal with each other just fine. Then the kitchen decided Mandy and I have some wierd sexual tension thing and then it all went to hell. There are times I could wish to be straight. Then those times pass because I wouldn't be who I am if I was, and I'm getting to the point of being rather fond of who I am. The fighting is irksome, though, and I hate being in the middle. And I hate that the only shape you can make with three points is a triangle. Because that's just too ironic even for my well-developed sense of caustic irony. I wish it was easier. I wish they were easier. I'm going to make cookies.