As I was sitting in PE today, staring blankly at my large red 70 (circled with blue and then circled again with green--the mash of colours reminded me ever so slightly of barf), I discovered what it is that's wrong with me. It has to do with that seventy, and it has to do with my doodling everywhere, and it has to do with my obsessiveness about reaching goals. It has a little bit of everything to do with everyone, and I'm not quite sure when it started...but it's here now, and I guess there's not much I can do to fix it, eh? My problem is this: That I, simply, strive for and depend too much on what other people think of me and gauge my worth by the compliments I get. All I really want out of my time spent anywhere doing anything is to be told I am excellent, I am wonderful, I am the goddamn best. I'm all over the place, what with horses, and school, and drawing, and writing...but never, not ever in one place, has anyone ever told me I am so good at something it hurts. And that hurts, too, knowing I'm not really good at anything much. Except for flaring my nostrils. What do I want from me? What do I want from everyone? Maybe, maybe all I want is for a boy to tell me I'm beautiful. Maybe all I want is the highest math test grade. Maybe, just maybe, all I want is to sleep in for two extra hours and then go to the mall. Maybe all I want is for someone to hold me and tell me they love me. Maybe all I want is beautiful hair and a white smile. A purple hair ribbon. A silver calculator. A CD. I feel so small. Insignificant. Nothing, really.