My arms get cold

in February air,
Please don't lose hold
of me out there;

Valentine's Day is coming up. I've decided not to make a big deal out of it, seeing as it's a day that comes every year and it's silly to go crazy over it. I'm just going to erase it from my calendar, like it doesn't even exist, and I'm going to treat it as February the fourteenth. That's just the most reasonable way I can think of going about it.

Everyone seems to expect me to like someone. I think they're all crazy. I'm not getting dragged back into that preteen shit again. I know how that works. You start looking at them more. Talk to them and giggle at their jokes. Then suddenly you've got their number and they're your 346th Facebook friend, and they're asking you to hang out with them and their friends at the mall. A week later you go to the movies, the next day they ask you out, and a month and half later you split 'cos one of you likes someone else. It. Is. A. Never. Ending. Cycle. I don't want that. It's boring.

And another thing, I'm greatly opposed to dating someone I go to school with. It'd be cute at first, what with waiting outside classes, or pulling a and sneaking kisses in the hallway, but no. Just no. I don't want to see them everyday. Especially because in the morning I'm really pissy, and I tend to carry a lot of books with me through the halls and that looks ridiculous, and there are just way too many awkward moments at school.

I've decided that the phrase "pulling an Austin" has been tired out. The new term is simply "austin." Example: He is SUCH an austin. Verb form? "Aussing." (He's totally aussing me.) I have to use that now in daily conversation. "Dude, seventh graders are such douchebags. I tried to be friends with one but she way aussed me."

And, uh, I only have three months left in middle school. This month I have to apply for a high school. I'm not sure that I'm ready for high school. I'd like to fast-forward over summer though. I don't want to deal with summer. It feels like it shouldn't be my problem.

Maybe I can make a fresh start next year. I can't say that I really want to. This year I actually.. fit in. And now that I've finally found a way to step out of the shadows without losing myself, well, I don't want to ruin that. But I already know it can't last all that well next year. Too many people. It's like a watered-down Coke.

I think that about wraps it up.

I had a dream that you were with me

and it wasn't my fault.
You rolled me over, flipped me over like a somersault,
and that doesn't happen to me.

So I'm sitting here on Christmas Eve, with words gnawing at my brain with the kind of panicked excitement that tells me they're important. I'm drowning them out with Blue October (read: Should Be Loved, Jump Rope, and My Never) but somehow they keep coming back.

Pesky little rascals.

If you're reading this, you should know by now that I like a girl named Sarah. Yessir. She hardly knows I exist, save for two IM conversations. And so commences Operation This Will Not Go Well.

There's a fan page on Facebook called "I want to tell you something, but I'm afraid of how you'll react..." and I love it. Not just because the title rings so true, but because on the comments people post their own stories, even if it's just something short like, "I like him but he has a girlfriend," or if there's two paragraphs' worth of an explanation of how this guy's fiance eloped with his cousin to Las Vegas, divorced after two months, and he still wants her back but doesn't want to seem obsessive.

And I think, maybe during the summer after high school, if I have my shit together enough to pack up and leave - no matter where I go, as long as I don't come back - I think I'll write a letter, explaining my entire story. Because I feel like I see things other people don't see, and I can just close my eyes and realize my whole life is simply a book like you'd find on a shelf at Barnes and Noble; everything up until May of seventh grade has been the prologue, and since then I've been writing Part One.

Somehow that reminds me of Stranger Than Fiction, mostly the part toward the end where he risks his life for the sake of the story. I almost don't care anymore what happens as long as it makes a good story. In June 2014 I want to write down something worth reading, and just hope to God it has a good ending. (And that it doesn't sound like something Stephenie Meyer shat out. Just sayin'.)

Right now I'm talking to Kalynn, and she admitted that she loves Cameron. I can honestly say I don't doubt it, and that's not a smartass comment. After she told me that, she said, "It scares me," and I replied, "I know." If there's one thing I value in Kalynn, it's that we can understand everything the other says. Have I mentioned she (now) describes me as "99.9% lesbian, like hand sanitizer"? Yessir.

Funny, that just reminded me of the first time I ever met a gay person (not counting Eric. Sorry Eric). They were Amber and Harley, Laurel's sister's two best friends, and yes, they were a couple. At first I thought Amber was a guy. Obviously, she wasn't, but somehow I walked away from Laurel's house with a newfound love for plaid, digital watches, and baggy jeans. Good times, good times. (Plaiddd<3)

At this point, all the words I've been holding in are now screaming their annoying little asses off and I can't think worth a shit. So later.