I told him that he makes me feel like scrambled eggs.

He sat in silence for what must have to have been twenty minutes.
and laughed in confusion at the three strange words that had followed 'eggs'.

but I meant 'em. I wouldn't have said them if I didn't mean them.
I meant them, and I mean them. I never say them If I don't mean them.

my brain wants to tell me not to get too involved.

It's more though... you know?

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I felt like one of those girls you'd see on the Disney channel, not the young ones with pink ribbons and sparkely camasols, but the older ones that were what the pre-pubescent minds watching it looked up to. I'm sure I didn't look it too much, but I felt so, with my black filp-flops that were flipping and flopping behind me, and my flared out jeans so tight around my thighs that I could barely put one stiff leg in front of the other. It wasn't me anymore. I almost looked forward to the yearly clothes shopping trip my mother will drag me on. Her treat, of course.

I stood there in the new books section, with that slanty stand only one knee slightly bent and the other locked into position. Where did I belong less... Here or the Disney channel? I felt like an idiot. But one thing I knew about myself, if I knew anything, was that I liked to read. I wasn't one who knew all of the new authors and had intellegent discussions with thier peers about the meanings of the books. I poked around at the books I'd never heard of, Apprentice to the Flower Poet by Debera Weinstien, The Bird Artist by Howard Norman, and Eden by Olympia Vernon. Those were the three I had in hand, anyway. Maybe these titles were well known, maybe they weren't, but observing the techniques and and voices of these obscure (to me?) authors somehow appealed to me.

The well air-conditioned building offered some escape, though. Enough time for me to take a breather, to get lost in these worlds that other artists have created, and to run from the world I have created. I sat down in the padded chair at one of the tables, and noticed the other's around me. The ivory white haired woman to my right reminded me of the older lady from Murder She Wrote... What was her name? The first thing I noticed about the younger girl across from me was her shiney black hair pulled back into a ponytail, not the fact that she was asleep atop an enormous stack of notes and research-type books. There were two, even younger, girls looking at the shelf in front of me pulling out every book containing the word "chocolate" that they could find. Smiling at this, I opened to the page before the beginning of the first chapter of Eden;

Do you think you shall enter the garden of
bliss without such trials as those who have
passed before you? -The Koran


I was a few pages into the book when an older man wearing a vibrant, oceany-green polo shirt sat down at my table. His hair was turning gray and very out of place, unorganized. He had good posture though, I noticed, then he caught my eyes at his. He struggled a bit with his cell phone and the outlet set in the middle of the table, while asking me with a strange accent, to watch his phone while he went to a computer. I smiled polietly and agreed to. He seemed overly thankfull. Just before I regained my concentration I eyed the dusky red hardcover that he set down next to his phone. Before I even read the shiney gold letters stamped on it's exterior, I regognized it as an encyclopedia, then read on; Encyclopedia Americana Volume # 11, 2003. I silently toyed with the thought of him being an immagrant preparing for an exam of some sort to gain citizenship. Yes, that's what he was... because that's what I wanted him to be.

About ten pages later I got that feeling you get when you know someone is standing over your shoulder. Mom, She was back from grocery shopping. Here to take me away, since she was my only transportation home. I gathered my things and headed out the automatic sliding doors. The drastic change from the hiked up air-conditioned environment, to the uncomfortable Texas heat seemed to no longer affect me. Too bad it took seven years of living in it.

I still have that feeling like someone's standing behind me. But I look, and no one is there.

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repetitive drumming
almost soothing
lost in strumming
going gaining
coming losing
being seeing
wondering stopping
hoping leaving
singing winning
laughing breathing
crying dying.

--

Something's different in the air tonight.
I hope you're a part of it.

Oh I just hope you're a part of it.

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I hadn't seen him in weeks, and had since been persuing a new boy.

But all it took was one phone call about a week ago, and I was hooked in again. You may not understand, but I really do care about these people. The last thing I want to do is hurt someone, especially when such delicate emotions may be involved.
So we got to talking again, and spent a few hours at his house after eating dinner at mine. As much as I tried not too, by the time I was at his house, there I lay. In his warm soft arms, cheek touching cheek, giggling at the movie that neither of us were truely watching. My feelings for him are so strong It's hard to put exactly how I was feeling into words. I'm not sure if it's a wild youthfull love, or if it's a warm passionate love, or maybe a strong and steady friendship love. I do know I love him. I know I love many people, but I love him differently. It's compleatly exhausting to ponder, and is taking over too many of my thoughts.

That is Dylan, then there is Matt.
I met Matt by clicking through some online blogs, and bumped accross a writing style and thought pattern that really intrigued me. After adding him to my list of must-reads, we soon began chatting on instant messenger. He was very eager to meet up in person right away, which may have convinced me further not to. But after some more chatting, and a few phone conversations I realized I really did want to meet this person. Thus, I did. And we seemed to get along right away, and things were going great... until...
Until the wonders of online blogging (once again) turned my feelings around. I saw pictures of my new persu-ee, Matthew, kissing passionately, a long time friend, Sara.
I sat, not knowing exactly how to put this together in my head. Her and I have never had the same taste in men. Well, Men is exactly what I mean... She went after men... while i went after boys. Which is Matt?
The people-experience and intellegence of a man, in a seventeen year-old boy? It happens. And there he was. I was scared at first, afraid of his intentions with me. Was he as experienced as a man? Should I be afraid, or shouldn't I?
A few days after barely skimming this event in conversations with Matt, I recieved a phone call from Sara.

A Sara who sounded different, younger than I remembered her. A Sara through different eyes than I had seen her through before. You could almost say I used to idolize her, she was truely who I looked up to most... the year's she seemed not to be bothered by my company, anyway. But my eyes were differen't know... My eyes are different now. The big people in my life have now shrunk down to a more managable size. Though I still admire her strength, and intellegence, she almost seems more manipulative and simple than I had remembered. Instead of once being on the side that she was, us being able to relate (though in very opposite ways, but still relate) To now, being manipulated. Her words picked at me like she sent them to do, but I let them. Is it worth the trouble to maintain a friendship that was never really a friendship at all?
I will remeber her most likely for the rest of my life.
unfortunately, I know she won't remember me past senior year in highschool.

Anyway, Matt and I have since discussed these ideas. And he claims he has no more feelings for her, or never had to begin with.
But secretly? I am afraid. I am afraid of lies.
Lies just like they all had lied before...

Then there is Jon, beautiful, wonderful Jon. I don't understand all of you yet Jon. And I'm hoping I don't ever. I don't want to understand another person to add to the pile. You are my hope.

What about Michelle. Oh geez, Michelle. There's not too much to say about Michelle. I've known her sine we were in elementary school. I love her unconditionaly. Now-a-days she comes around only when it is convienient, but I don't mind much, to be honest. Sometimes we, as people, need time to explore... but in the end, we'll be with the ones who love us as much as we love them. I will always be able to forgive her. No matter what she does to our friendship. I hope one day she'll feel the same to me.

dfasdfasdfasdfasdfsd
I just want to be alone right now...
I want no ties.
I want no obligations, no rules.
Let me alone, and I will you.

so many confusing feelngs.
so many confusing people.

I think I'd be happier not knowing how to feel.or cry...


But I'm okay. Tomorrow I'm going to go have fun and go swimming and eat grilled hamburgers, because that's what you do in the summer, right?
right.
keep it simple, and things will be managable.

this entry sucked.
I'll probably delete it tomorrow.
I probably don't mean any of it.

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You're pushing me back
But I pass right through you
I'm slippin' through your cracks
I wanna get close to you
But you just won't let me in
You're pullin' away
So my hands can't touch you
So you can't feel my pain
And there's no secrets
Between you and yesterday

I was lying on the floor, face down, breathing slowly in and out through the soft carpet fibers. I wasn't more than six or seven feet away from the computer, and the speakers were still humming their sweet songs of summer to me as I lie there, alone. The house was empty, empty enough to hear the pulses of the music echoing off the walls.
The plasticy smell of carpeting filled my lungs slowly, in and out. So repetitive. It was so repetitive I wished silently in that moment, for it to stop. And as soon as the tight clenching in my stomach grew tighter, one after another, tears fell from the corners of my eyes and collected in small pools of moisture.
I felt them leave me, and hesistated. Jumped a little, even.
But no one was home, it's okay. I forced myself to let them leave me.
Those tiny drops of liquid that belong to me, not to be seen or shown to anyone, I let them go. I let them seep into the carpet, and my body followed.

Then I imagined what it would be like. A hand across my waist. Maybe a whisper in my ear.

To be loved. Not to be loved when it was convienient. To be loved like this. like in the movies. Or even what it would be like to love. To put all of my heart and love. Love the imperfections.

Then I remembed how it's not true. and how it should be true. There are so many who deserve for it to be true.

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A combination of things have been weighing down my mind lately. I'm not quite sure how to deal with all of them, if I even can deal with all of them.

Like any sixteen year old girl would, I am secretly craving a relationsip for the summer. I won't lie to myself about this, and I have to admit that. But I think probable reasons for the strength in this desire are the other insecurities I have. This being a craving for a distraction, rather than an actual relationship.

There are just people, and personalities buzzing around my head right now, and I can't stop to look... Everything moves so fast.
Maybe I'm caught in a moment of insecurity...
but maybe my insecurties are truth.

I have always wanted to be strong all the way through, I have admiration for this trait... It is so hard for me to master.

---

I called Matt while I was at McDonalds, and he told me he wanted to reschedule for next week. I know it's not his fault, his mom is sick.

My head hurts, and my stomach is sour.

I just wanted to keep dreaming
I'm afraid of the real world.

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