who.
am.
i.

the sky is white. the ground is white. the world is white. it's been snowing since last night, lightly, and yet streets are mildly perilous at best. last night i actually hung out with a bunch of guys, the guys from work. i was let off early and was jubilant, and yet i stayed around. i've never been that kind of girl. i've never had so much as two words from some guy. i say it's the transition, and that i am changing. i'd like to think it's because they think i'm somewhat good-looking, but mostly i think it's just circumstances and an out-of-the-blue rise in what little true confidence i had. i turned the ignition, cranked up the heat and brushed and scraped all the snow and ice off of my windshields before being engaged in the snowball fight going on behind me. i like having fun in the abnormal way; without involving drinking and drugging and partying and other such activities that typical people my age are supposed to and, who consequently do so in this town, have fun. little quirky things like snowball fights in the parking lot behind the DQ and dodging every shot.

i hang out with different people. i try hard to maintain former connections, but because of my lack of self-discipline, they are fading. anytime i mention hanging out with a former friend, i get no response. i want to be in love with somebody at this point, why, i don't know. i feel secure, just in the fact that i have thoughts to fall back on when they wander during those nights when i stare blindly at a dark ceiling and the glow-in-the-dark stars i stuck up there when i was nine are waning and i wonder if anyone is watching me from up there, on the ceiling, up there...

my heart is jumping back and forth between people, and it's only when i encounter them that i feel so strongly. if i'm never around any of them, my heart doesn't know what to do, and so it resorts to attacking when my beliefs are threatened. meanwhile my mind's been working overtime. i punch in whenever i wake up and punch out when i come home from wherever. i am thinking, constantly thinking and analyzing, over-analyzing, everything.

i need to get back to something. i need to start reading good books at night before i go to bed. i need a donald miller book. i'd pull out the only ayn rand book i have, but i think i can only handle Atlas Shrugged every six months (two months to read, four to recuperate and collect my thoughts and beliefs). i barely have any other books as deep and thought-provoking and strangely enjoyable; the rest of my library consists of books from my adolescence and old ones from my mom's adolescence. i have nothing to read except the Bible. a library full of nothing to read.

the fall quarter is almost over, and i'm due in latin one-oh-one in about fifteen minutes. the people at my table are talking about the effects of cocaine and meth, and i don't know why; i'm feeling anonymity here. i miss security, knowing what was going on.

-d