I Have Regained Sanity (For The Most Part)

Hello There…

Alright, so, I have chocolate-oatmeal-walnut cookies and Heather has finally replied to my frantic texts (the latest of which said simply “BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”) and calmed me down (I dare you to find a proper response to my text message, for I am convinced only Heather possesses such a superpower.)

I’m not going to work at Kohl’s again, I’m going to try to get a job at The Book Carriage, where I’ve wanted to work for ages. And, since Josh stays with his family during the Summer and his family lives in the same city as me, if he wants to see me he can stop by The Book Carriage, but I’m not going to start turning my life upside down (again) for (a very, very attractive and nice and funny and witty and really really really great hugger and attractive…ahem…) somebody who has contacted me only once in over two months. Even if a part of me is still swooning over him, I know what I need to do, and I need to follow through with my plan to get an education up north and form a life elsewhere. Maybe things will change over the Summer and I’ll change my mind, that’s always a possibility, but honestly, I know that I’m beautiful and I have a heck of a brain on me, and I don’t want (or need) to be an adoring puppy anymore for somebody that never just came out and said he cared about me, that game hurt and it only made my mind spin.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there is a fresh cup of mint tea waiting for me downstairs and a new issue of Psychology Today to finish before bed.

Until I Write Again,


P.S. The Last Classic has officially reached 100 subscribers!


Suppose I’m Crazy…

Like a light switch.

That seems to describe my decisions as of late. I was awake late last night, thinking. Just thinking. Changing my mind about one little decision, and then another. Asking myself questions that I thought I had answers to. Eventually I just started pacing, my mind spinning like it did when I was so infatuated with Josh. But over so many little things.

Until the first of June I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep a secret from all of you. Part of the reason I couldn’t sleep was because I knew I wasn’t going to write about it here, I couldn’t. I can’t. Because this decision will entirely alter where my life goes from here, and I haven’t even told Heather my real reasons for doing what I’m going to try to do. Because it’s complete and utter insanity.

I’m not going to go jumping off of a bridge or join a cult, I can assure you that those would make for far more interesting posts than the one that will be posted June 1st, but it’s still something I can’t get off of my mind, and you can’t blame a teakettle for whistling a bit under pressure. I’ve flung various rants throughout little notes in my books and blogs, because the fact is that last night I discovered there is no way I can stop writing how I truly feel. It is part of my very being. I need to tell the world what I think, know and learn. I suppose we all know what this means:

1. I can never join fight club.

2. I can never be trusted with matters of national security.

I react too strongly to people, to their presence in my life. Everything they do and say I take into account, I think on it, a lot. I tell people who I care about that I care about them, it feels unnatural not to.

But I react much too strongly. Like the presence of the earth in the cosmos, the fabric of space and time being steady and flat, until the existence of the planet causes the fabric to bend in compliance, forming a valley around which the moon dances. That is the effect that every person in my life has. A massive impact that changes my life in an instant.

I suppose this is just me trying to explain to myself why I’m doing what I’m doing.


I think about how emotionally open and vulnerable this blog has made me. I’ve decided that I’m ‘over’ Josh, it hurts to think about him, but I have decided this, he is my past. And no matter what it takes, I am leaving Texas. My future isn’t here. My life will not be here. And for the rest of my time here I won’t be pursuing a relationship with anybody. I’m tired of being an adoring puppy, clinging to every word they speak, aware of their every move, losing sleep over them. There is someone worth it, but (and say what you may about this) I refuse to find him here.

I know that this post is senseless and I must seem at least a smudge crazy or unstable. I feel crazy and unstable at the moment. An increasingly familiar feeling of just wanting to run away from it all has returned stronger than ever.

This is just the way things are, and I know that it’s going to pass. I know that it’s all going to work out. My mind is simply spinning nonstop, as it does in times of stress, and eventually I’ll reach the light at the end of the tunnel.

I don’t know if any of this made any sense, I suppose I didn’t try very hard, but I needed to say all of this. I’m feeling so overwhelmed, I just want to walk outside right this second and go for a walk in the wonderfully cold air to the little playground down the street, and sit on the swings while staring up at the stars. That is truly what I want to do.

I try to avoid posts like this. I do write impulsively, and I do write when I’m in an emotional frenzy, but I’ve never written in this sort of state of mind before. And I have no doubt that tomorrow I’ll want to delete this. But I won’t, because it would be the same as lying.

I suppose, in a nutshell, the entire point of this post was to say that for the first time in a while I am really not alright. I’m young and I’ll ‘get over it’, but it doesn’t make my present feelings less real. I don’t like the word ‘feelings’, at least not when I use it, because it seems so immature and petty and it seems to threaten to take away any weight that my words hold.

I’m going to try to get some rest.

Until I Write Again,


Mental Polaroids & Running In The Rain

“It’s not over yet?!” Heather’s voice had been reduced to an annoyed, sleepy mumble.

I chuckled and glanced at the clock on the oven. 1:47AM. Somehow it always ends up the same way: Heather nodding off and me trying to keep her awake. The difference being, this time, instead of watching a Ghost Adventures episode, it was The Godfather.

“So…why are they killing the guy in the car?” I held my phone in the way of the TV screen for a moment until the sound of machine guns stopped. Fake blood or not, I shuddered at the sight of it.

“He’s the son of the godfather, right?”

“I don’t know. He just drove up and they shot him, and I don’t recognize him in the least.”

“Wait, is he a bad guy?”

“Aren’t the machine gun guys the bad guys?”

“Hey, Hannah?”


“This is the world’s worst movie.”

“I know!” I looked over in surprise at Heather, I was a tad afraid to voice the opinion myself. Heather had been keeping up so well with the storyline that I thought she was more interested in the film and perhaps understood the hype.

“It never ends.”

“I know!”

“And there’s too many characters.”

“I know!”

“And it’s confusing.”

“I know!” We both started laughing.

“It’s so stupid!” Heather’s tired, half-laughing mumble was the most comical thing I had ever heard in my life. I remember thinking that I would never forget what Heather sounds like when she’s laughing, it’s musical and infectious.

We complained and laughed sleepily at each other’s complaints every few minutes until finally the credits started rolling, both of us half-asleep by the time it was finally over.

“Wait…that’s how it ends?”

“So it would seem.” I chuckled when something came to mind. “Heather, you realize this was the easiest thing on the list?”

She chuckled, “Ha! I can’t do any others! This was too much!”

I suppose that could count as our movie review. We did get attached to a few characters who ended up dying (and a lot of characters ended up dying,) and we were able to piece together parts of the storyline, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

The upside, of course, is that now me and Heather Madame have one more item marked off of our 20 Before 20 list.

It was raining heavily all day. The drive to church in Heather’s cantankerous Jeep (that we have named Cher, because it is the color of a cherry,) was the most intense we have ever experienced. I tell you now that those windshield wipers were plotting our demise and attempting to execute a hit using the newly formed puddles in north Texas’ many potholes to cause us to repeatedly lose our sense of direction, and the unusually blinding and glaring street lights to disorient us. Even with the rain the drive consisted of a mix of contemplative discussion and absurd, hilarious stories, it’s just that this time, in between each story there was a moment of my life flashing before my eyes.

If there is one thing I’ve learned about Heather, it’s that she is hypersensitive to the stares of other people. We walked around the lobby and wandered into a couple of hallways (well, I wandered into a couple of hallways, Heather just made sure I didn’t get too curious about the ‘Church Staff Only’ rooms and try to sneak in), I knew she wanted to duck into the sanctuary and stay out of sight, but the hallway looked interesting, so I slowly inched farther down as we chatted. Next thing I knew she was making a beeline for the sanctuary doors and there was little I could do except follow along. Sneaking down hallways is not nearly as fun when one is sneaking alone.

“I felt like there were a lot of eyes on us out there.” She whispered as we sat down near the back.

“Where, in the hallway?”


“Well, I suppose it does seem like a modest group, new people must be a bit of a big deal.” I raised my stare to view the room and, sure enough, several people were staring directly at us.

Halfway through the sermon it struck me that I wasn’t even dissociating (usually the first step in a panic attack for me, dissociating is when you feel distant or separated from the environment and yourself.) I wondered if it was perhaps because of Heather’s presence, or the fact that, for the first time in years, I was actually bored with a sermon. Perhaps my lack of any sort of anxiety was due to the fact that it didn’t feel like I was in church. Like it was just another building with no significance, with a kind-looking fellow at a podium who didn’t seem to be talking about much of anything.

When we stepped outside it was pouring much harder than when we had first arrived. The sky was black as ink, the sound of the downpour drowned out any voices and the pleasant clicking of our heels, and the raindrops were so tiny and fine yet so overpowering that the air surrounding the street lamps seemed to consist of a dancing fog that consumed the very air we breathed. Both Heather Madame and I were expecting to end up in some sort of car accident, perhaps a little bump into a pole or a collision with one of those tiny ‘Geek Squad’ cars. We couldn’t tell the sidewalk from the street, and those merciless, twitching windshield wipers did nothing to calm the tension. Nothing happened, thank goodness, and we still somehow managed to talk the entire time.

I took a lot of mental photographs last night. Because I loved that moment of running through the rain in our high-heels (it was my idea…I thought they would look classy with my new slacks, and Heather doesn’t wears her very often) with nothing to shield us from the storm but Heather’s comically puny parasol that her mother bought her on a trip to Disneyland when she was ten. And the moment when we walked over to the stove while making the quiche and realized that we had just accidentally deep-fried the spinach and bacon bits into a state of semi-charcol. And reminiscing about the days when Ryleigh was part of our lives, the little adventures we’d get into, and wondering aloud for the thousandth time why she left.

I used to believe that the best memories happen when you don’t think you’re making memories, and I suppose I still believe that, but there are moments that are exceptions, like when you’re staring into a pan of deep-fried blackened bacon bits with your best friend and with the utmost horror wonder aloud “How did it come to this?”

I had hoped that I could keep it brief, but, once again, a post has extended far past my 300-word goal.

Until I Write Again,


Stream of (Irrational) Consciousness

Heather Madame & Myself 2/11/2012

“I think if you don’t, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering ‘what if?'” She said simply, “Wouldn’t it be better if you knew?”

We sat, woefully unprepared for the gusts of icy wind that swept across the lake. Despite quickly losing feeling in our extremities, we gripped our mugs of coffee and sat perfectly still atop a small hill facing the body of water. The topic of conversation too top-secret to discuss at home.

“I know I have a monologue in me of everything I want to say to him, but,” I chuckled without humor, “he has no idea about any of this. About the sleepless nights, the blog posts, the conversations…About how many choices I’ve made based on some silly infatuation.” I winced when I saw his face in my mind. “He has no idea.” My last late night chat with Madame Emily (a fellow blogger who lives in another state) still lingered in my mind. Most of the time what Heather suggests that I do mirrors exactly what Emily advises, but this time it wasn’t the case.

When the conversation veered to the topic of college, I asked Heather something I’ve never point-blank asked anybody in my life:

“What should I do?” I stared blankly at the lake. And I sincerely wanted her to tell me, command me, make up my mind for me. A group of ducks huddled together in the water, several of them occasionally daring to wander away from the group. They didn’t last long alone before returning.

“Oh, wow.” She said, “No pressure, right?”

We both grinned and she spent a moment in silence, contemplating.

“What did you want to do before Josh? Before you knew where he went?”

“I didn’t have a plan before Josh. I was just grouping together universities that looked pleasant. UT Austin has really nice surroundings, but UT Dallas has a program for a double major in biology and criminology…Maybe I should just go out of state.”

“Up north?”

I nodded, “Emily said it snows. And it would give me a clean slate. A start of something on my own. Away from here.” I was going to add ‘away from Josh.‘ but I realized with a dose of relief that his existence for the first time in months wouldn’t be the seemingly all-powerful force that sways all that I do.

I looked at the foolish ducks wandering off into the cold, only when they decided to branch out and away did it seem to hit them how alone and unprepared they were. But then, maybe I was giving too much credit to the adaptive thinking of ducks. Maybe they branched out because they knew they could come back to the warmth of the group. “After I get my bachelor of science degree, I could always come back to Texas.” I could tell the idea of me moving across the country didn’t sit well with her. The notion has never seemed too grand to my mother, either. I hardly know the framework of how to work out such an operation. But if it ends up being something that I know I want to do, I will find a way (hopefully.)

We tossed the idea around for a bit, I would start to imagine what it might be like, to just wake up in a place entirely unfamiliar. Alone. Knowing no one and no one knowing me…It seemed like a breath of fresh air. But then the common sense of Heather (and mom) would remind me that the grass is always greener, the snow a little deeper and the excitement only temporary. But I can’t help wanting to do something extremely irrational and downright idiotic like moving out of Texas on a whim. Every now and again, throwing caution to the wind and hopping out the dang window while I’m at it seems like a good idea. Heather will be married and, I suppose, if I can’t be with Josh then I have no reason to stay. All I need before med school is a degree in science, where I get it means little.

I know I’m thinking foolishly at the moment. Not enough sleep, too much coffee and a lot of fear about the very near future can do that. Also, I’m 17. This means my frontal lobe, a crucial part of our brain that handles executive functions such as our organizational skills and the ability to consider potential consequences of our actions, hasn’t fully developed. So, one could say, I’m currently mentally unable to realistically consider the possible serious downsides of moving so far away… Fun fact.

I wish I could skip ahead the next six months. After talking with Heather (when we returned to her Jeep and the feeling returned to our hands) I decided that I’m not going to work at Kohl’s again in the Summer. Instead, I’m going to try to get a job at a little bookstore/coffee shop that I’ve been admiring for ages in Roanoke. Heather pointed out that, if I do return to work at Kohl’s, I’ll only be existing for the days I end up working by Josh. I’m still crazy about him, it still absurdly hurts to know that I’m forgotten. I cried about the whole thing. I can’t believe I did. I mean, my goodness! Crying over a guy. It seems so petty. It seems so undignified. I can’t go back to Kohl’s because I can only get more hung up on him, I can only find more reasons to admire him. I wish I had never met him. I could never be angry at him for any of it, as I previously mentioned, the fellow has no idea. But I’ve never felt this way about somebody before, and falling for someone from afar is a painful process. How can I think the sun and the moon of anyone, and contentedly accept complete silence. That was the plan, to wait in awe until Summer… Leaving, running, escaping from Texas sounds wonderful at the moment. Just something new and different. Perfectly irrational, but all the same, wonderful.

Perhaps that’s what I want now, I want to run away.

Alright, I’ve been working on this post bit by bit for the past seven hours and I’m afraid I have gotten very little done elsewhere. So, I leave you here, with this juvenile stream of irrational thoughts.



A Review Of A Self (Specifically, My.)

Time and again I’ve read about the importance of knowing who you are before taking on a serious relationship and, of course, marriage. Since I’ve been having a nagging fear that I will never in a thousand years be ready for anybody, I have decided to make some lists. One is a list of things that I know for certain about myself (as you’ll see, it’s a bit choppy and confusing, it was surprisingly uncomfortable to write), one of things that I know that I want in somebody that I would be serious with, and a list of non-essentials that I’ve put on nearly every ‘prince charming’ list I’ve ever made.

What I Know About Myself:

I believe everyone screws up everyday.

I believe we give ourselves permission to be angry at times when we shouldn’t.

I’m scared of making someone miserable in a relationship.

I’m scared of getting hurt in a relationship.

I’m scared of thinking too highly of myself.

I believe that I’m smart.

I believe that I’m pretty.

I believe that, while I’m aware that I have uncountable faults (like anybody), I do have pure intentions, I have an understanding of who I am, what I’m for and what I want out of life, and I will always act on what is best for the people I care about. Because of this, I believe I’m worth pursuing.

I don’t curse. Ever. Because I think it would make me seem less ladylike, and I was raised to wince at the sound of a curse coming from my own mouth.

I always do what I know is right, but I’m always severely tempted to do what is selfish first and foremost.

I’m scared of dying.

Sometimes I lie to make it sound like I’m concerned about someone’s feelings when my mind is elsewhere entirely.

I know that I’m excellent at reading people, and profiling them. And, keeping with the pattern of honesty, I think I could become the best criminal profiler in the world (and be a lot less full of it than John Douglas…Yep, I read ‘Mind Hunter’, I was split in two between complete awe and admiration and total disgust and irritation.)

I think so far I’m starting to sound pretty arrogant. And I’m considering editing a few things so I appear more likeable. But those of you who know me best will read right through any edits, so I’m scared to try to falsify anything.

I believe in God.

What I Know I Want In A Husband:

Someone who is empathetic to those around him.

Someone with high morals and no criminal background.

Someone educated.

Someone with ambition, who has a goal he wants to fulfill in life, a career.

Someone who loves his work.

Someone who wants to have children, but is willing to wait for them.

Someone who doesn’t have a flaring temper (this one is essential.)

Someone who can blatantly tell me the truth about myself.

Someone who can easily forgive.

Someone who knows that money isn’t everything, and that it’s okay when you lose it all, as long as you don’t turn your back on the people who matter while you get back on your feet (my mother taught me this when we were living in a mobile home.)

Someone who knows who he is.

Someone with faith, a Christian.

Someone who can tell me when I’m wrong and not hold back (and not be hostile while they’re at it.)

Non-essentials Include:

Someone who reads the morning paper. Every morning.

Someone who knows his literature.

Someone who doesn’t mind my frequent hugging.

Someone with a routine. (Studies have shown that this sort of stability is essential for optimum psychological health in children during their earliest years…just saying…)

Someone who has at least heard of Tim Conway (I love Tim Conway.)

Someone who doesn’t mind when I start rambling (you know those rabbit-hole off-topic rants I go into in my blog posts? I do that when I’m actually talking, too.)

Someone who enjoys the library.

Someone who dresses at least semi-classy (blazers, vests, slacks, long sleeve business shirts ect.,)

Someone with eyes of an unusual color (example: instead of a stale brown, either strikingly dark or a very light hazel. Instead of just blue, a pleasant silvery blue or green-blue.)

My favorite look on a guy is a grey, long sleeve v-neck sweater with the arms rolled up to the elbows and casual pants. (I have seen this look on two different guys I’ve had a brief crush on, and two others I didn’t care for, and it never fails to make me swoon…) So I am adding this to the list of non-essentials.

Someone who loves the cold and the rain.

Someone who loves going on walks…in the cold and the rain.


Well, honestly, I do feel better after that. It’s nice to see things in writing. Oh, that’s another non-essential, too, I would like it if he knew how to write.

According to a recent issue of Psychology Today, most commonly one’s beliefs on everything in life continue to morph and refine until our mid-twenties, and even then we spend the rest of our lives changing them little bit by little bit. So perhaps, some ten years from now when I’m twenty-seven I may need to make another set of lists if I’m not married by then… Gosh, ten years from now I’m only going to be twenty-seven? Not that I’m complaining at all, it’s just ten years sounds so long and yet I’ll be so young still… Alright, before I start rambling I will leave all of you be.

Until I Write Again,


To Who We Were And Who We’ll Be

“16 But Ruth replied, “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. 17 Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the LORD deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.”

–Ruth 1:16-17

That has always been my favorite Bible verse. It’s Ruth, the daughter-in-law of Naomi (to whom she’s speaking) and recent widow of Naomi’s son, declaring the utmost loyalty to Naomi.

I haven’t been to church in a while, because of the panic attacks. In November of 2010, I was sitting in the middle of a church service when I had my first panic attack. Ever since, even just sitting in the lobby of a church triggers an attack.

I’ve always veered away from talking directly about God in my blog – this is 100% because of my fears regarding my relationship with God. I love how honest everyone on WordPress is with me, many of you tell me things I need to hear but don’t want to, and so every time I write on my blog, I can just hear the cut and dry truth before I even hit ‘publish’.

The very moment before my panic attack, sitting in the middle of that church, I made the choice to try to forgive my father for what he put me and my family through the past few years. I prayed and laid down my right to harbor bitterness. I felt myself let go of the hatred. And then the world seemed distant, my heart started pounding, and I thought I was going to die.

Ever since, I’ve never been the same. And I haven’t completely opened up to Him. I’m too scared. Especially now, when everything is so unstable and I’m getting ready to let go of life as I know it. Faith shakes everything up.

I’m scared because I know that once I make that choice, first order of business will be speaking to my father for the first time in two years. I don’t hate him anymore, I just don’t want a relationship with him. He’s a stranger, and I don’t want to build a relationship over again, because he hasn’t been a father in a long time.

I’m writing this post because it dawned on me last night at 2:00AM, as I was writing Heather an e-mail (I didn’t want to disturb her with a text message if she was fast asleep) that after this Summer, our lives will never be the same.

In August, Heather will be married, and at the start of the new school year, I’ll (if all goes to plan) be moving into a dorm room.

For two hours I typed, contemplated, then typed some more. It hit me a little bit more with each tap of ‘Enter’.

Everything will be different.


This Summer an attempt must be made for a road trip somewhere crazy. Before Heather gets married and I start packing. A carefree-teen-years swan song. Not that our teen years have been carefree, they certainly haven’t been life threatening. I suppose it’s simply because this Summer is the end of this book. It’s the end of the general status quo of the past five years we’ve been friends.

My infatuation with Josh has been a fantastic set of blinders for the big picture. But I could suddenly see it all as I typed out that e-mail.

Gosh, what would I do without writing?

Tomorrow, Carlisle (Heather’s fiance) will be leaving for basic training in the Navy, and he won’t be back until two weeks before the wedding. So on Saturday, me and Heather will start our week of no make-up (it’s something we’ve wanted to do for a while, but I’ve been too busy being vain and she was too worried about how she would look in front of Carlisle) also on Saturday, we will be trying out a new church, and it will be my first time in a sanctuary in a long time, and finally, Saturday night, we will be crossing off something from our 20 Before 20 list: “Watch The Godfather”. Which will leave us with just 17 more list items, and a little over two years to complete all of them.


It has been suggested by many a scientist, that our perception of time is completely warped. That, while we perceive seconds, minutes, days, weeks ect., everything that has ever happened in the history of eternity has yet to occur, is occurring, and has already occurred. It is all happening at once. The past, present and future. Who we were, are and will be is inherently determined by the reality of what time is. I mention this because I’ve been having extremely vivid flashbacks, the sort of memories so vivid that you can feel them. The sort of memories that make you feel like a part of you is there still. And so time has been on my mind.

There is only so much time to make such memories, to make something of myself, to realize things and experience things and pursue things. Time as I perceive it. Time as we all perceive it.

I understand the person I want to be, and for a while I let go of the notion that who I am should be based on who I am with faith. But I take pride in many things about my childhood: that I was raised to behave like a lady, that I was raised to respect and consider the feelings and opinions of others, and that I was raised to believe in an all-powerful God. I never stopped believing in God, I just stopped believing that I could have it in me to let go of something that has been overpowering me for the past two years. A lot about my life currently scares me. I’m not a fearful person anymore, but I am afraid of walking into the future with a faint outline of what to expect.

Until I Write Again,


Call Me Crazy (Or, Just Call Me.)

This would be day four. Day four of being awake past three in the morning. Being awake past three because I can’t stop thinking about Josh.

I know what I need to do, I’ve been fantastically logical in my actions about the whole thing. I’ve left him alone and have decided to wait patiently until late May when I’ll see him again. I’m not a patient person, I never have been (and if I’ve ever claimed to be, I was flat-out lying,) but I’m perfectly content to be patient in this case, and restrain the constant impulse to send him a text-message every hour.

I was so restless tonight that around midnight I found myself pacing my room (my room that I had just spent an hour rearranging because of said restlessness) just thinking about him. About his voice, his face, his walk, his stare. Dozens of books from various stores and libraries lay scattered across my floor, leaving to the imagination any range of scenarios that could have led the area into a state such as this. As I walked I scooped down by one of my windows and picked up The Psychopathology of Everyday Life by Freud, I flipped it open and read a few sentences as I paced. I reread the words when I realized that I couldn’t understand any of them – not that they were no longer legible to me, it was simply that I couldn’t sink my teeth into any of them, wrap my head around the phrases, make sense of a single concept. They were just words. Just black against white. Nothing more. I tossed the book aside, making my cat jump upon hearing the slap of one book cover against another. The feline looked up with murder in her eyes for a moment before returning to her nap. I picked up another book, which ended up being French Essentials for Dummies, I didn’t even bother opening it before tossing it away, much to the fury of Abby Num-Nums. My mind sent me into a flashback, Christmas Eve, as I was snipping away behind my register (using receipt paper to make snowflakes) I saw him watching me with a tired, contemplative expression in my peripheral. I looked up and smiled, waving with the scissors still poised in my right hand. He nodded and smiled back. I thought to myself how he must like me, and went back to focusing on my task.

Just when I think I’ve pulled my mind away from a memory, I’m sucked back in. And there comes a point every half hour where I ask myself if I can make it four months without doing something downright stupid.

A lot can happen in four months. I remind myself. You might just find someone else. Then I see his face in my mind and I drop the idea. I’ve never felt this way about a guy before.

I’ve been turning over every single moment I spent with Josh, like a part of me is looking for some deeper meaning, a hidden message, something in his facial expressions I missed. Maybe a moment I couldn’t remember previously, like when you switch to Monk when you see it on the TV guide late at night and discover with an understandable dose of joy that it’s an episode you’ve somehow never seen before. But I run the idea around only to find myself right where I started. I’ve seen this episode before. Darn.

All of this to say, simply: I miss him.

But suppose he made it clear from day one that he felt the same. Suppose he were to call me now at three in the morning and say he cares about me. Suppose I’m out and about tomorrow and he walks right up and says he stopped into town just to see me. What could I do? I couldn’t do anything, because I don’t even have a silly license. We couldn’t date anyway because until I’m 18 all gentlemen must get 100% approval from Mother Madame (and I tell you now, this is not possible. So far my relationships have just happened suddenly and somehow end up private the entire time. They also all end up distant and 90% of communication is done through a digital medium.) By the time I am 18 (July 6th) Summer will be about over and I’ll be off to college, and then what? There doesn’t seem to be a window of time where it would work out. And that’s assuming he’ll still fancy me by July.

This, dear friends, is the point in time where my mind gives me the most radical idea, just to see how it seems to fit. The idea being that tomorrow I just call and say the following:

“Hello Sir, just wanted to let you know that I’m crazy about you, and that I haven’t slept in about a week because I’ve been up pacing and thinking about you. How I think it’s funny when you get annoyed, how I love the sound of your voice, how I love how you treat your family, how you know what you want out of life, how I loved the way you’d lean back against the register with your arms crossed and your head slightly tilted when you were tired, your eyes seemed softer when you were tired. I just wanted you to know all of that because, see, I miss you more than I’ve ever missed anybody in my life, and I can’t very well imagine anyone who could deserve you. Except (if I’m being honest,) me. I think this is just something you should know, because you make me happy, and I know I’ve made you happy once or twice. I suppose I hope this is a bit of a shock, a pleasant surprise, actually. Have a good afternoon.”

A radical idea indeed, but it felt nice to put all of that in writing.