Fun:
Slept over a friend's house on Friday, went into town on Saturday, then went to a party. She slept over my house on Saturday night. Sunday we went back into town, then went to the mall with my uncle. I found my favorite pair of jeans, thank the high heavens, I missed them so much.
Not Fun:
Oddly enough I think I'm headed down the same path that I embarked on in 8th grade. I now begin to realize what I'm doing after it's done.
Prime example: take a teenaged girl who is the epitome of the American dream. She's gorgeous, she's smart, she's talented, she has a good job, a loving boyfriend, a great family. She's miserable. Her eyes are the eyes that smile at her boyfriend as he tells her he loves her. Her eyes are the eyes that weep oceans at night, in the morning, in the afternoon after she returns home from school, in the bathroom at lunch. She doesn't realize (or doesn't care) what she does to herself, because she doesn't know who "herself" is anymore.
A month after her fifteenth birthday, she wakes up in the hospital. She doesn't know what she's done to herself, why she's lying in the intensive care unit, how in god's name she got there. Only after learning how she accidentally overdosed on her diet pills, she finally realizes that her life was spinning.
That's pretty much the best way I can describe it. I'm not that girl, since I am not a made-up character and also since I don't consider myself any of the traits I used to describe her. Sometimes I think of why people always tell me I'm her. I think it's mainly because she's a good example of what I could become in a year, or more, or less. Maybe I should worry about my direction. I suppose I don't really care enough.
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