I hung out with Lauren today, and it was pretty cool. She's fun, and she's smart, and she's HOT (haha, I know you're reading this, Laurie.) . A guy at k-mart stopped our cart and asked lauren what her name was and then pronounced that she was HOT and lauren was like "Um. I like your shirt." It was great. I wanted to wear knee socks today, but nobody was listening and nothing matched so i wore shorts. and flip flops. Whatever. Speaking of whatevers... Guess who promised to call me today at four and let me waste two hours of my time waiting for a call that wasn't going to come today. Guess. Just fucking guess. I'm getting so tired of all this chasing I'm doing. Goddamn, I'm not her mother. I love her a lot, but I'm not her mother and I refuse to always be making everything work! Everything we do, I plan. Every time she calls, I plan. Every time we go somewhere, I pay. WELL I'M SICK OF IT. You know?! I think that if she wants to hang out with me, she better call and make some fucking plans because I sure as hell am not saying anything. I mean, I've got errands to run too, you know. I've got a life outside of you, although part of me wishes I didn't...I'm still stabbing that part in the eye every time the clock strikes another hour and you're sitting at home and not making any effort to do anything much at all. I really, really, really love you, but you know, I'm going to just let myself brew and sit and do as humans do, and I want to see you fix it. I want to see it, damn it! I've got the house to myself, and I'm reminded of thirty things I have to do tomorrow that I know I'll probably blow off anyways. Everything's weird...everything in the deja vu of my merry go round summer seems to just rotate and rotate like a ferris wheel from hell. I have to mail letters. I have to wash my face. I have to eat my vitamins. I have to return library books. I have to watch movies, return and exchange them. I have to finish summer reading. I have to paint my nails. ARGH! I have to call to schedule a party! Do I even want a party?! How old am I turning, anyways?! Eighty fucking nine? I hate .....something. I don't know what I hate, I just feel like blaming something or someone. Goddamn!