Mmmm. I'm tired and pleased with drinking Smirn Office and cooking hot dogs by a fire. Despite all of Lauren's insistence on the insane disgustingness of mechanically separated pork. Tomorrow: girls' margarita night at Beth's! The freaks didn't even card us tonight, either. Beth was all psyched about using her cool new ID, and they didn't even ask.

***

Nothing much else going on. I would be reading my trashy book, but I left it in Elena's car, which is not here at my house. I would be reading newsgroups, but no one's ever on 'em this late, or on Friday and Saturday nights really. What's the good of going to such a dorky school if no one's going to go all out and be dorky with me and be newsgrouping at 5 in the morning on Friday nights? I would be going downstairs to get something to eat, but I think some family members may be up soon, which would necessitate me putting on some pants before leaving my room, and I really don't feel like it. My legs are smooth as buttah! (to use an old class of '99 word: oh, how sick I was of hearing how things were like BUTTAH by the end of my association with Jay and Dieter and that crew) and so why would I want to cover 'em up?

***

It's starting to get light. I like going to sleep when the sun comes up; I don't know why, it's not a hatred of the sun, it's not vampiric, it's just a love of laying in the sun, like a kitten, lying in the grass on a summer day, the way I would back in the days of Creative Writing class when the weather was nice, and I would spend the rest of the day of classes infused with sunlight, my skin radiating heat, my head woozy, but in the best way possible. And without shoes. I loved going to a school in which I could go barefoot on nice days, at least. And I loved being yearbook editor, because I was the dictator of that room: no one would've dared tell me to put on shoes. If any teacher ever came in that room, they were quite aware that they were on my turf and it would not do for them to try and tell me something.

Who knows why it is that I always get backon the topic of high school; I don't think I think about it nearly to the proportion that I write about it here. Perhaps journal writing leads to nostalgia? I certainly do have lots of high school nostalgia, hate it though I did. But when Elena was wishing yesterday for a chance to go through high school over again, have more wild times, do more typical teenage shit, make more memories, I had not that desire one bit. Does that mean I'm satisfied with how my teenagerhood turned out?