I'm not sure that I can tell you exactly why it's been that I haven't written anything; there's no specific reason; I haven't been insanely busy, I've had little bits of news, but no need to disperse it yet, I have been composing sentances and paragraphs in my head, as I always do, so it's not as if I am stumbling upon a writer's block of some sort. Maybe a block against posting here? Maybe I worry too much about what people think about what is here. I've been writing a lot more in my paper journal just because it's such a release to not think about what impact my words have on others. Let me go ahead and say: if anything I say here makes you unconfortable, just let me know, okay? I'm not going to stop talking about something just because it makes some ghost from my past unconfortable, but, really, if what I think bothers you, then wouldn't it be good to talk to me about it?

I'm not really talking to anyone in particular. Just a worry that hit me, I guess.

***

What's nice though, about my life right now, is that there really isn't anything that I am worried about. Maybe I'm not as worried about things as I used to be; I hate it when other people worry incessantly (ahem, mymother) and maybe it's caused me to be more unbothered by little things in attempt to spread that attitude toward the people surrounding (suffocating) me. And yes, I realize how immature it is to me whining about my mother. I feel like I'm fifteen. And, obviously, it was my choice to be here this summer, originally, 'cause I like my family, I used to have so many people around this place that I care so much about, but...

Okay, I'm the queen of contradictions, I suppose. I start out talking about how I have no worries, and end the paragraph with the sad feeling I got leaving Atlanta tonight heavy in me. Not that the two are necessarily diametric, but I start with this intent to be happy and just get all grey. I'm not a grey girl; what's up with that?

And on that note (the "what's-up-with-that" note), what's up with me becoming such a mopey dependant girly thing? Lena certainly rolls her eyes at the codependence, and so I feel a little obligated to justify it, but I know that things I do, just the amount that I check my mail, would surely have made me roll my eyes as well a few months ago. Of course, it's related to the long-distance, but also, that boy's done something to me: I can't really be happy unless he's within arm's reach.

Really, the thing is, I have always been able to pull excitement, happiness, ecstasy even, out of nowhere. Unless an elephantine cause of depression is in the way, when I decide to be happy, I don't even have to think about it anymore, because I'm already smiling about something, pleased to be where I am, thrilled to be awake, alive, doing whatever currently is occupying my interest and my time. It still works, but it's become as a magic trick does once you realize how it's done: it doesn't seem nearly as fantastic, it doesn't let me forget the fact that a second ago, I was missing someone desperately.

Sigh. I don't know why this has been weighing down my mind all night: I had a beautiful wonderful happy weekend, and in only a month or so, I'll be close enough to touch him whenever I want.

***

In other news:

Still madly in love with the boy. He's awesome, and hooked me up with plane tickets this weekend, and I got to be back in my favorite place in the world for a little while. He's the best thing in the world. (Just so y'all know.)

Elena's got herself all hooked up to this new fangled "internet." Welcome her to the world of the living!

Reading. That's all I have to say about that. (Because if I get going on Illuminatus! I'll never stop, as was evidenced in the car the other day when Lena innocently asked what was going on with the Discordians...)

Pallavi's been writing like a mad woman. (I totally undestand, girl, and have a long letter on it's way to you, since I can't seem to comprehend how to operate a telephone. I do think about it, but it's consistently at around 11 or so at night, or later, as this timestamp may reveal, and I don't want any Indian parents hatin' on me... Oh, and hey! I stole ideas from a wide variety of places, and in fact, don't think that I read jellyfish until after the journalling began. I was, however, reading aggie, jo, beth, and pamie for years before I ever got the nerve to do it myself. I still remember reading those kids in my secluded little computer lab at the Day school. The door had gotten locked due to the freshboys who had a penchant for trying to steal things from the pretty new boxes, but Mrs. Skinner would let me in and I'd spend double frees just soaking in the glow of a terminal in the dark room. I suppose I should go ahead and admit my little bitty bout of destructiveness, but really, it's not my fault, those goddamn iMac posters on the walls were just begging for mocking. And they were so much funnier when beneath all the colorful chunks of plastic it said in big black letters: "Collect them all!")

(I miss you so much, girl, and I'm so still here for you, though it seems like I'm far away and thinking about other things. I don't know what I'm going to do when I get up to school. nicholas told me I can be all clingy with him when I need someone to hang out with, but jesus! I really don't know who'll lie in the afternoon with me and listen to the green album on repeat and enjoy it just as much as I do.)

***

If I didn't write as much when I got going, or get distracted as frequently with long bits of things that I need to read, then maybe I would do it more often, eh? I like long bouts a lot, more than disjoined bits of nothingness, but really. What is this no updating in two and a half weeks nonsense? I do not appreciate it in other people, and the everyday thing that pamie did for three and a half years is an inspiration. I'm still working on it.