Scrunching my nose, I look blankly at the screen in front of me. Here am I: desirous to write yet unwilling to analyze. My life speeds ahead rapidly with such force that I’m afraid of falling off my path and having to watch my train of promise chug quickly away. Ha. That’d be funny.

I finally got in trouble for never going to class. Upon seeing my midterm, my mum decided to book a charming little meeting with East High’s assistant principal, Mr. Sadler. Sadler, a jovial, yet down-to-business kind of man is an interesting guy. Upon seeing my squeaky clean record he was good-natured and ebullient, but something tells me that I would have found him to be very different indeed if I fell into the troublemaker caste of East high. He basically told me to go to every class from now until the end of school and he’d help me to graduate, but if not he would make my life perdition and give my mother permission to sit in with me during class for a week. Thus, I have and am planning to attend every single class in which I am enrolled. Stupid class…

Carter’s still all romantic and cute and amorous like. One of these days I’ll write a serious piece about what he really means to me: an articulate Carter-Rachael manifesto type of dealie. I’m too content with him, though, I’d rather not complicate it by trying to vocalize it. It’s so simple: I adore him and I love him and he makes me happy. He’s my poet. He really is the type of guy I want to marry. (Don’t worry: I’m sixteen and we are NOT in Kentucky, so I’ve still got a decade of single-ness or so)

Elisse and I are having problems. Once again, we’re drifting and it’s not good. She’s getting so snide and rude about it, however, that it makes it hard for me to grasp what I’d be fighting for a times. If she’s going to be so unhappy no matter what then what’s the point? She wrote an entry in her blog the other day and stated “Thank heavens I have a real best-friend” (in reference to another person). I could weep and mourn about this, but if that’s that, then that’s that. She’s getting so rude in her tone and text messages, she makes it easy for me to read something like this, say “huh”, and give Maile and Jane a call.

I sleep in tomorrow! I got so little sleep this week, this is a monumental incident indeed.

Oh beautiful, intoxicating sleep! Steal me away and never return me. Lift me up on your subtle wings and carry me into the inner depths of my mind, never to resurface into the bitter wind that is reality. How I adore thee! How I crave the fulfillment I find in your emptiness! The refreshment, the awakening, the peace! Oh sweet and bitter sleep, how I adore thee! To wake with the sun pouring through my window and dripping onto my bodice is a rare one I’ve come to love, one that I clean my room up the night before just so that the moment can be as picturesque as humanely possible. I close my eyes and tilt back my head in melodious elation, allowing the thought to wash over me and cleanse me with thoughts of tomorrow. Oh sleep, I hear you beckon and I come immediately, obeying the summon with an exultant diligence. I come to you, open your arms wide and swallow me whole, for I am yours!