I guess it's nice.

You don't tingle like a schoolgirl, and you're not awash in a rush of warmth like a cheap novel heroine, but it does put a smile on your face.

You've done your best all day to look like you're not looking, which you aren't, not really, even if your own eyes betray you more often than not. You didn't offer the first good morning. You didn't push for conversation. You definitely didn't follow him across the hall; he was walking in front of you to start with, and you're practiced at melting into the scenery, so he didn't notice a thing. You smirked instead of guffawing because he wasn't that funny, and you talked to everyone else around before you glanced his way.

All in all, you've been as cool, casual, and disinterested as you could have possibly hoped for. You didn't have an agenda, because that would imply a level of investment in your situation you simply don't have. This isn't something you were angling for, waiting for, or even hoping for at all.

But . . . if you're being honest with yourself, it is a kind of pleasing.

He looked for a seat, among so many empty seats, and he picked the one next to you.

Don't worry; I got it.

I hate relying on other people.

It's not that I don't think they'll come through. Most will. If they don't, I don't let it get to me, because I tell myself I didn't expect much anyway.

It's more that I hate being dependent on anyone but myself. I must constantly prove to myself that I can handle my own problems, or I end up feeling weak and apologizing profusely to whoever is (I think) being horribly inconvenienced by stuff that (I think) is none of their business.

On the other hand, I've been told that it isn't bad to ask for help; that building a network of people you can count on is a good thing. I had never thought of it that way, so I'm trying to readjust a bit. Still, though. I can't help feeling like asking for help is an imposition.

How do you balance that? Being self-reliant, while allowing others to feel needed? I know I like feeling needed. It hurts when I think I'm not needed.

I will have to ponder on this more.

Woke up at 10

It is official. I can't write in the morning.

I sit here and I try, but I am so prosaic in my thoughts (need to brush my teeth)(go get a shower)(did i finish that assignment yet) that even I think I'm being boring. Hmm.

This blog is mine, though, really, so I can say what I want, and boring suits me, I guess. (i will probably qualify almost everything i say)

Can I skip the first class period? is that a thing?

About to go to class. First class of the semester. I would prefer not to.

I don't feel well. I am a terrrrrrrrible creative writer, so taking a class may be a good thing? But I am a truly awful creative writer, so this is probably just going to be incredibly embarrassing.

Heavy hands on the edge of the desk. The sharp edge digs into the heel of my palm. Fingers fidget on black keys waiting for something to inspire them, but nothing comes of it. Always. Never.

Augh.

Tune in next time...

Schooooooool.
It returns on the morrow, and I want absolutely nothing less.
My present dilemma is thus: I am supposed to have read a book this summer. Ha!
I regret to inform you, Professor, that I, a super-senior English major, read no books at all this summer. I did read many works of fiction by independent writers online (read: PWP fic), a great stack of young adult novels that I am ashamed to acknowledge, and the first page of The Great Gatsby. Sum total of my reading.
I watched so much TV, though. I can run you through script after script after script after script, if you like. I think it counts as literature, don't you? It's very creative.

Okay, so perhaps I exaggerate just a bit. I did read a lot of books this summer, but it was all in one great spurt, and none of them really qualify as 'collegiate' reading. I am not disparaging YA lit, but I fear my classmates or, more troublingly, my professor, will.

Will I lie?
Will I be truthful?

I won't.

Close.

And the moment stretches out for hours.

listen to my thumping heart

stare into the glimmering dust

a shaky breath

taste it

ghosting in the glow between me and you

So close.

The window rattles. Sit back. 

But that just happened. Don't forget it.

Tired.

So I have been purposefully staying up very late because I constantly feel that I am leaving something unfinished.

What that something is I cannot tell you, because I do not know it. At any rate, I keep the sort of hours that should let me sleep until noon, but that I cannot do either. I have to take my sisters to school.

Suffice to say that I am constantly exhausted and all the joy has been sucked out of me.

Maybe I'll go to bed earlier.