I'm not looking forward to going back to school.

That's not the whole truth. The homework and tests, I can live without. Life without James, however, I'll have to reconsider.

That's not the truth either. I barely know the guy. I don't like him that much anyway.

I guess I could be more honest. I don't even think I like him at all. Not like that. Besides, he's short. If I stood on my toes, I'd be taller than him. But now I'm being shallow and superficial. I should've just told you about my outfit instead. It's like totally mod.

I think I'm catching a cold. When I start to get all stuffed up and my sneezing alters my vision, I know that it's probably time I turn off the computer and go to bed. I'll take a double dose of vitamin C, because that can't be too bad, and I'll chase it down with a glass of icy pomegranate juice. Dad says that the old ladies that come to the store at night swear by it. Old ladies are supposed to be wise, right? Well, they're either wise or insane, but I'll take my chances. It tastes good enough.

Today I discovered that I don't know how to boil an egg. Water, eggs, a pot, and a stove. It all seemed so simple until I put them all together. There's a certain amount of water I'll need and a time for the water to boil. I couldn't figure it out on my own, so I actually Googled a How To. The first egg was a runny disaster, so I turned the heat up. An hour after I began, I had myself a nice bunch of hard-boiled eggs. I should be embarrassed, right? This is something a monkey could do.

The room was filled with smoke, but to the right by the dartboards, I made out a few familiar faces. The Lonely One swung his arms around like a madman, obviously desperate to touch someone. And the Garish Gals circling him were waiting for their chance to pounce. Darts sailed through the air, and The Cool Ones, the kids with the beer, took turns grunting after each shot. You need a triple twenty, rumble, grumble, scratch, and sip. The Prude stepped in, and the world kind of stopped, so she took off her top and ran nude through the streets.

I spilled my salad dressing on all of my food and hit a car while walking. I smiled when I saw you and could not stop. My face was aching, so in the dark of the theater, is was nice to relax a little, and maybe frown, for my muscles' sake. My heart fluttered the whole night, and I'm such a stupid girl with a stupid pink dress and bonnet for saying that, but screw you, it did.

I'm terrified of you, and my bones say to bolt, but my heart's got this nagging and is curious to know more.

I looked out the window and was surprised by what I saw. Just behind a thin layer of glass, was a world I only wish to be in. Although it's drab and gray out, something about this picture kicked away whatever these islands use to keep them separated from the mainland. A lady walked by with a leash in her left hand. I didn't see what it was attached to, but I'm almost certain it was a dog. Only in my [al]most outrageous dreams do people walk their dogs in the rain. Here, we're so tired of doing the hula.

As if odds aren't enough&

I feel defeated, I think I'm getting an ulcer, and my best friend is taking her boyfriend's side-- one of the reasons being, he's her boyfriend. You know, there was a time, not too long ago, I think, when best friends were best friends and not girlfriends to boyfriends. But it seems the times are changing. Girls, you better learn the new rules: Boyfriends trump best friends. Now deal.

I'm exhausted, emotionally drained, and there's a sharp pain in my back. Remind me to take the knife out before I go to bed.

So, there it is-- my pride gutted on the table in all it's blood and gory for everyone to see. Oh, the things we do to make things right. It's not that I'm not tough enough to handle The Great Disapprover, because believe me, this girl's got guns. But, to redeem these balls that I've been told I lost, listen here! Tis far more honorable to lower your weapon in battle than to use it. It all boils down to just you and me, and in the end, I'd rather have your respect than the head of my once enemy.

One week later, we put on our shiny new badges. Mine says Girlfriend. Most people wouldn't understand that a week's worth of Q&A justifies our jump.

Okay, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared and that I thought it was time to take on the titles, but I'll get used to it soon enough. This is kind of exactly what I was looking for. He's serious about things, you know? Unlike the other guys I know, he probably wouldn't shoot bottle rockets off the crotch of his jeans for fun.

I just don't want to be let down.

I'm going to see A in thirty minutes. I had a really bad stomach ache just a few seconds ago. My stomach always starts to hurt when something good is going to happen. The stomach ache that will stick with me for the rest of my life was the one that I had when I was at Tokyo Disneyland in eleventh grade. I'd never been to Disneyland before, and thanks to that stomach ache and the thirty degree weather I was not prepared for, I still have yet to experience that joy. sigh. And Pepto Bismol does nothing for me.

I've never seen anything like it. Legs were flailing in the air. Arms and heads were thrashing to the music. Shoes were sent skyrocketing toward the back of the crowd. It was intense! Okay, of course I'd think so. I get excited when I buy a new book. But this, my friend, was quite the experience. You're probably looking at me with some raised eyebrow expression and a thought bubble above your head that says, you need to get out more. I still have ink stamp remnants on my wrist as a reminder of my night out of the norm.

I saw the Lake House for a dollar tonight. There are so many things wrong with time travel. It's a nice concept, but all I see is this big circle of events. It's difficult to explain, so I won't even try. Harry Potter's time turning adventures were very frustrating. But, I don't want to go into the particulars.

I'm at a loss for words. Really, the things running through my mind have very little to do with time travel. I'd like to tell you about our confessions, questions, and how we held hands TWICE tonight, but that's a little personal.

I'm trying to make him miss me. I don't even drink coffee, but I'll make some to keep myself busy. I'll shampoo my hair, rinse, and repeat, just like the bottle says, because every minute I'm away from my computer means another minute he'll be wondering where I am. If he knew how much he meant to me just ten days after he meant nothing to me, I'd really be letting myself down. If he knew, I'd be losing the only edge I've ever had. Just think of what could happen if he knew how much I've written about him.

He's almost as good as a book boy. You know; he's sweet, he's cute, sometimes funny, but not the kind of perfect that, if torn from a page of some chick lit novel, would make you sick. We went to the zoo today. There weren't any penguins and the tiger was too far to admire, so we settled on the black ape and Nile Crocodile as our favorites. The ride home was the best. I felt girlfriend-y, he was boyfriend-y, and I think our sense of humors were starting to show. You know relationships are progressing when there are jokes.

My stomach made weird gurgling noises during the quiet scenes. I knew from the first rumble that more were to follow. Indeed, a two hour musical number complete with nervous laughter and compulsive fidgeting. Girls are not supposed to have loud stomachs, and if they do, they are supposed to be suppressed for at least three months around a boy. I guess I just swallowed a lot of air or something. He was nice and pretended not to notice. But, I had to acknowledge it before he could ask if I wanted anything to eat. I died, like seven times.

I don't remember doing anything journal-worthy yesterday. There was a bunch of magazines lying around, so I tore out pages, folded them, and made a bunch of envelopes. Now, I will have to write a bunch of letters or all that time and effort would have been for nothing. I wrote a letter to A, but I still haven't decided which envelope to use. I also wrote a bunch of letters to Wendy, but I don't know if we're speaking to each other now. She's got a new boyfriend, and he looks like trouble, but I can't really say anything.

You're prettier.
No, you're prettier.

We're complimenting each other now. He's uncomfortable being called pretty, and I'm a little uncomfortable with him saying so. I feel like I'm taking a huge risk by playing this game, and letting him know all the things I like about him.
I watched The Perfect Man on HBO today, and I saw a piece of myself in the desperate mother character. I'm not a mother, but at times, I feel I throw away too much to be with a guy. It's hard to find the balance between trust and fear, faith and sheer stupidity.

At 4am, A picked me up. We thought it would be nice to watch the sun rise after a night full of the Nice Game (compliment competition) via instant messages and no sleep. Near the shore, sand got in our eyes, so we relaxed in the car, blinking with ease, to the cool breeze and sounds of the ocean. We wrote notes to each other in the silence occasionally broken by laughs induced by innocence or steaming bowls of applesauce. While the sun rose, our nighttime vigor wore off, and we drove home with Something Corporate in the foreground.

Now, I'm enjoying the rare summer breeze and listening to some country music (the latter, not by choice). There's something so American Family about the scene outside. My mom and brother are in the pool, splashing like children. My dad is manning the barbecue with a grin and a reassuring paternal whistle. And the dog is barking at the cat in a playful, rather than hungry, way. Soon, we'll all gather 'round the wooden picnic table in the extraordinarily green and kempt backyard, assemble our perfect hamburgers, talk, laugh, and give food scraps to the Golden Retriever we call Comet.

Ty's talking while he's supposed to be doing his homework. He is a trouble maker, probably a heartbreaker, and the kind of boy that riles up the class when the teacher's trying to teach. He talks a lot in certain environments, but in others, he is quite quiet. He's thirteen, gets good grades, and is only about an inch shorter than me. Last night, he had a dream that I was a powerful and insane (in a good way) volleyball player in a lucky jacket. He is making faces now, playing with his gum, and singing to make me miserable.

I remember things about the Periodic Table that I didn't even realize I retained back then. It's kind of like magic. Or photographic memory. Either way, I amaze myself.

Today, I had to meet with several of my professors to discuss my class schedule. And I must say, I handled myself exceptionally well. I spoke fluidly, maintained my cool, and wasn't asked to repeat myself for clarity! I am quite the practically-college-sophomore-ish go-getter, and I hope you're impressed.

Not only am I tall, thin, and beautiful, I'm the most humble person I know. While others boast, I feed the homeless.

On a whim, and a notion from a dream, I baked and froze this strawberry chantilly thing. I unintentionally butchered the recipe, but it smells good enough. I feel like I base a lot of my reality on the things that pop up in my dreams. My world is too pink. Everything that means anything to me is meaningful because of it's connection to humanity. To love. My eleventh grade history essays weren't about battles and governmental policies, but the ways people felt and dealt with the changes in their hearts. Because of Sherman's March, it was hard to love!

Enrique loves Amelia. They met online in something like a chat room. He's rather tall with long, blond, curly hair. Her height wasn't mentioned but her short wavy red hair is definitely something to talk about. Enrique plays soccer in Kansas, but doesn't mind the lack of color there. Amelia writes articles for a surf magazine but has never been published. She's fascinated by the brilliance of wheels rolling across the pavement. Oh, surfing. A delight. The two will rendezvous under a big tree, kiss, and be married. They know as well as we, these two were meant to be.

I got a sandwich from BA-LE today. My first. Liz said that the chicken on a croissant is really good, so I trusted her and ordered. The person making my sandwich seemed frantic, and it was difficult for me to keep my cool while telling her the things I wanted and did not want with my chicken. Give me a break, lady! I leaped and shouted no mayo! before she could poison my sandwich. The rest of the ingredients were just dumped on. It was colorful and smelled good, but I prefer my sandwiches simpler and less complex than those.

To celebrate the end of the first week of school, A and I went out for ice cream. It was a joyous affair. We saw a movie, then headed down to the beach to discuss life. You know that whole six degrees theory? It suggests that any two people can be connected to each other through a chain of no more than six people. The small world phenomenon fascinates me, so when I found out that A's sixth grade friend was none other than my since-seventh-grade best friend, I was thrown for a loop! I'm talking like an idiot. Bye!

My grandma is upset that one of her childhood hangouts is going to be torn down for a supermarket. I feel horrible. I wish I could do something for her. I wish that I was one of those people that hears about something like this and decides that it's something to fight for. Something worth standing up and protesting against. I wish that I had the guts and gumption to shake a fist or lay in front of a bulldozer, maybe even petition against it, but I don't. I'm spineless, voiceless, and helpless, and I can't see myself changing that.

A and I haven't spoken for two days. We were both really busy, but when I wasn't, I decided not to contact him. I'm already in too deep. I should start backing up now. I have to climb out of this hole that I've been digging, because just when I start feeling safe, the walls will cave in, I'll be trapped, and I won't know how to get out. By then, all will be lost and I'll have no desire to ever dig holes again. We're fine at the surface, and neither of us is in danger of crumbling walls.

Hawaii shook and rumbled tonight (3 - 4 on the Richter scale) and there was volcanic fog (vog) coming from Kona earlier today. After all this buildup, I'd hate to be let down by something less exciting than a statewide blackout tomorrow. I'd like to see the people of the islands in a mass frenzy. It'll be good for news, and lovely entertainment for those who haven't got the time to get away.

"Nothing interesting ever happens here," said the girl by the tree right before lightning struck her ponytail and a piece of the sky fell on her toe.

Wendy and I are speaking again. Early summer blunders really took friendship aback some of steps, but as always, we've recovered. Besides my own sister, she's the only friend that I felt comfortable enough to argue with. In high school, when we were upset with each other, we'd write mean things about our characters in our story.
"Wendy waited and waited, but her crush didn't call her. In school, he ignored her when she waved," I'd write.
She'd retaliate with something like: "We were having a good time until Jen came. Then, the conversation just stopped, and we walked away."

When the doorbell rings, I run to my room. At home, I'm ridiculously ugly. During the summer, a film of filth and sweat covers my skin. My clothes are repulsive neon colors of green, orange, and a terribly faded black. I've got food scraps stuck between my teeth, and I won't bother to pick it out until the morning. My legs are unshaved, my belly hangs low, and there's a mysterious odor coming from my armpits. My hair is plastered to the side of my face with grease, and I'm pretty sure there's something small and tick-like living in it.

Group discussions with this Megan are hell. Too terrified to discuss, I sat there, wide-eyed and dumb. She gave me a You-Better-Say-Something-Now-Or-I'll-Destroy-You looks, and my brains spilled onto the floor into the puddle of my pride and dignity. Even my uh's and oh's came out stilted and stupid. Fortunately, class ended before she could scratch my eyes out or cast spells on me. In class, my fight-or-flight reflexes twitch. Should I run, or throw a bucket of water on her?

My high school's mean girls were nothing compared to Megan. She'd have them giving her manicures and polishing her horns.