Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.

You know I haven’t seen anyone point this out but someone probably has… You can see from the Journal entry about the gnomes that Stanford has no idea what’s under the gnomes hats. 

And apparently the need to see what is underneath drove him a little nuts to the point where he ALMOST LOST  A BODY PART trying to see under the hat

This would lead one to assume the gnomes never take their hats off, right? That this is some big deal to them that their hats never come off their heads, right? That no one can ever know what’s under them, right?


 I’m pretty sure the gnomes were just fucking with Ford that whole time on purpose