making an effort to make conversation, I keep all the tabs from my sprite cans and pick up the bobby pins on the tile (I leave a trail, we always joked). she sweeps in and out with a phone in one hand, laughing over her shoulder to the girl who called me fat and sneezing down the hallway.

I've thought long and hard and I still don't know if I could really do this. there are too many people I don't like and I never did like writing journals. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I always laughed when they joked about different colored ink, when I knew in my heart that was me. maybe it'll be the same thing. standing in line feeling inadequate and knowing all the while that I made it up last minute. (mavrelion saw right through me. she called me out once. funny...she asked me where my loyalties lie and I felt foolish stepping right into her psychology.) I would hate that, highschool all over again, all of the awkwardness and none of the carreening through doorways.

I have to write a play for intro, 8 pages and read aloud permitting no questionable content. I wish I could write something. if only I could paste in courier and make my subject some brazen heroine, suceeding against the odds and fighting the good fight. chances are that all I can pull off is a mediocre lolita.

ash @ 9:26 PM