  I ah, well, it feels like I'm back in high school again. Why? Cause the only thing I have to look forward to (on alternating days) is getting to see a few down to earth girls. And at night I lie awake and worry about things, classes and whatnot. What to write. And the more I think the worse it is. I kill creativity with my mind. I get an idea, a personal sort of thing, and it means the world to me, but then I stop. I don't want to offer it up to the class or my professor. I'm so selfconcious it makes me sick. Literally. I think more about everyone else and reactions than myself. Answering simple questions about me requires a few minutes of thought. Cause I don't know. Or in reality, it is that I know, but I think of ways to frame so I can hide the truth.
I should be an actor cause I study people and situations. And I always get the compliment, "But you seem so normal" or "You are the last person I'd expect to hear that from. " Well, when you don't know the whole of it, I guess anything can surprise. This past weekend sucked and while I'm trying to get into the habit of thinking positively, this one ain't shaping up any better. A blast from the past, whatever, or what you will call it. I'm gonna be jumblie, and feel like I'm gonna throw up.
She'll talk about things I once wanted to hear, but now it doesn't even catch my ear. I'll stare at my shoes cause looking at her is dangerious. I try not to think about her, and I've been fairly sucessful in forgetting details and the blame. But everyonce in awhile something pops up. When at some point things felt so ingrained little memories pop up out of nowhere. Apparently the color of lime green does it for me. And confessional writing. I learned to write electronically and only now do I understand compassion can't be sent through volts.
I'm 22 what can i do? Everything. But for now, I'm going to grow a prison stach, call who I've needed to for the past month and look for distractions in a little white ball and the hopes of a city 58 years in the making. 
