still freaking …

i can’t concentrate. this is seriously freaking me the fuck out. the thought of someone having that notebook and reading it just kills me. seriously.
i can only hope that it fell behind the headboard or something & that i’ll find it when i get home. because i am going to rip that entire house apart & hope to gawd that i find it. i checked the car this morning & it’s not there. they didn’t find it on the boat last week. so it’s either behind the bed or mixed in with the stuff from the trade show. how mortifying. and who knows when they’ll dig through that stuff?!
shit. i can’t stop imagining someone sitting & laughing over my writing, my private thoughts, my sad attempts at stories, at me & how pathetic i am.
merde.

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