We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.

Prom was yesterday! It got off to a boring start, but it was great. I had tons of fun and tons of compliments on my dress. Although, I have to admit, the slit was a tad too high, but it stands out that way. Plus, I could--and did--pull it off, if I do say so myself.

Mlle. Hatfield and I ended up being each other's date. We just kind of went everywhere together, me going to the bathroom multiple times to touch up my make up and her to the freaking drink place. We made fun of people with ugly dresses and feared for our future children's good taste.

Dancing was fun. I didn't expect to really get into it. It was so awkward at first because the other people were all grinding on each other while we were--or at least I was--trying to dance clean. I just felt to awkward on the dance floor with my high, high heels on. We could BARELY move. I really, really, really wanted to leave, but it was so cold, the only way for us to stay warm was to dance.

Luckily, Mlle. Corwin found us. She looked so hot and classy in her little black dress. It's time like that that makes me wish I have bigger boobs. Anyways, she pulled me and Mlle. Hatfield into the center. It was a lot easier to dance in the center. Warmer too. Once I got used to it, it felt more natural.

Then I got into it and got better--in my humble opinion, at least--and it got really fun. Mlle. Hatfield and I usually dance with each other. We later found Mlles. Jang, Tran (the Elder), Macias, and Lopez. Dancing felt good, which is a given since physical exertions release endorphins, and endorphins make you happy. Anyways, Mlle. Hatfield and I were dancing all night long.

We're definitely going clubbing next year. I've been missing out, man. It just felt so so so great! Like, I'm letting go of most of my inhibitions. The flashing lights feel warm on my face--even though that's not possible. It's just very hypnotic. Like, nothing else matter. I'm both relaxed and hyped at the same time.

I saw Mlle. Lythgoe, like, at most five times. He barely danced, and, when he did, he danced with his huge ass group. He got Prom Prince, but when it was time to dance with the Prom Princess...there was something going on. I didn't know what.

Anyways, there were a bunch of people not dancing. They just sat there. And there were some who were texting on and off the dance floor. I don't know about you, but I didn't pay all that money to look pretty sitting down and texting while everyone else had fun.

We went to Denny's afterward, Mlles. Macias and Hatfield and I, and had some thing to eat. It was crowded  there, and when I was walking to our table, these guys from the table next to us just all turned and looked at once. Not obvious at all. Then when I left for the bathroom, this guy on the way there, turned his whole body around and just watched blatantly as I walked toward him. When we were at Denny's, I was way tired and way beyond caring. So, the whole time, I made eye contact with him as I walked. Looking back, that was probably the shittiest idea in the history of shitty ideas.

We went on Chatroulette afterward at my house till five in the morning. This guy said we were pretty. As a joke, I was like, which one? He said the one in the middle, which was me. Haha. That makes me happy.

But, the thing about Prom that really got me disillusioned was how many people were grinding and dancing dirty. It just looked so wrong...a girl dancing close to a boy, and he holds her and kind of guides her butt to totally stimulate himself. It's dirty and disgusting and it makes the girl seem like a sexual object whose whole purpose is to be a stimulant for the boys. I don't like that. Not one bit. It's almost sex, but people do it out in the open for other people to see.

Why are we so obsessed with sex? It's all over the media. Artists who don't have any talent can just BS a few verses about sex and make tons of money while people who actually have talents don't get the same recognition. Little kids are wrapped up in it. It's messed up. It is no longer just a human instinct to procreate and preserve the human race; it's a pleasure, a past time. I don't know. I don't know what to think.

Maybe it's just the way sex is represented by the media that turns me off. I hate how women are viewed as objects for MEN to assert their masculinity. Fuck that. If that's really sex, I'm joining a convent.

But I've talked to people--guys--who don't see it like that--thank God. The guy from London--the one that advised me to masturbate--talked of sex like it's a way that further connects two people in a relationship. M. Dow also talks about it that way--and that's saying something since he's such an asshole. M. Dow also says that it brings two people closer. He also tells me bunch of things that I dare not repeat because of the inappropriate nature of those statements. I just hope that I meet men like M. Dow and the guy from London--I'm going to give him a name...let's see...oh, this is hard...how about Guy from London Who Also Likes Ed Sheeran?--and not pigs like Little Wayne and all those good-for-nothings.

M. Dow called me today right after Mlles. Macias and Hatfield left. We talked for an hour or two. I asked him about the limitation of the things we could talk about now that he had a girlfriend. We obviously can't talk so explicitly about sex anymore, but we could always talk about life. He told me about the theory scientists are postulating where the human DNA was altered in a way that would explain the small time gap that human had to evolved from apes or whatever to humans. Interesting stuff. I told him about Prom and grinding and stuff. We talked about his new girlfriend. He thinks she's not on the same level intellectually. He says they don't have much to talk about when they're not flirting and teasing each other. I tell him to talk to her about things like he talks to me, but he says that she won't understand. I feel like he's almost afraid to have girls know the deeper, less go-lucky side of him.

I'm leaning heavily toward atheism now. Do I really believe it or am I just easily persuaded?

I'm also thinking of not waiting till marriage. Like, 10% for not waiting. I've told M. Dow and M. Giusti and they both said I had to make that decision myself. Then M. Dow and I got into a really, really good conversation for about two hours. But then I don't remember how, but he said that he didn't feel any attachment to anybody in his life. Like, deep attachment.

I mean, I understand cause that's how it is with me. To me, right now, relationships are like balloons on flimsy strings. They could float away for all I care. Heck, I'd throw them all away if it comes down to that. I thought I was a lonely person, but the way he described his loneliness made me cry because it's so much more intense than mine. Like, I've seen bits and pieces of this side before, but this time it really got to me. He thinks that everyone's replaceable, and he too is replaceable in other people's lives. I tell him that I wish that he'll find somebody who he won't feel this lonely with. He's convinced that he won't find that person since he's drawn to innocence; he wants to cuddle with cute, sweet, and affectionate girls, and he doesn't think they can handle that kind of thing. He says that I wouldn't even talk to him if he was ugly and/or fat, that I was just drawn to him because of his outer shell, like everyone else.

For an egoist, happy-go-lucky person, he certainly didn't seem like it at all. Is that what happen to attractive people? Do they doubt their own substance because they suspect that people are attracted to them because of their looks? What happens when a person's inside does not match his/her outside but his/her outside is doing a good job of attracting the "right" kind of mates?

My head hurt. I haven't been able to think straight all day. It took me hours just to write this post.

Mlle. Smith and M. Smith (haha) have finally made it Facebook official.

A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.

M. Dow's gotten a girlfriend! He looked so happy when he was telling me how he asked her. It was very cute! I'm incredibly jealous. He usually smiles, but that day he just seems to smiles brighter the whole time we talked. Very, very jealous. He was like, "I finally have someone to cuddle with at night. Now we need to find someone for you to cuddle with." I was like, "Fat chance." I can't bring boys home, and, more importantly, I can't find anyone to really, really like.

When will I be that happy?

Speak of which, I went to the bank yesterday to exchange money for my mother. While there, I also wanted to take my mother off of my account so she couldn't see my expenses. So, the lady at the counter called this really cute guy over to help me. I was smooth, like I usually am, losing my debit card despite having it five seconds ago, dropping my phone on the ground, and sucking on a dumdum like a little child. Then I told him what I wanted to do, and he had to verify some information, like address, phone number, etc...but once he got to my school, he was like, "[My high school]? What do you do there?"

I was like, "Um...go to school?"

Then he asked me where I was going next year, and I was like, "UC Irvine."

I don't know, I just feel like whenever I say I'm going to UC Irvine, I feel like everyone just automatically thinks, "Of course. An Asian girl going to an Asian school." That's what I thought I saw in his eyes when I told him. Anyways, he asked what I was going to study, and I was like, "Oh, biomedical engineering."

He looked impressed and asked if there was a company in the area I wanted to work for. I was like, "Well, I'm actually trying to get out of the area. New York...Europe...you name it and there's a good chance I want to go there." Then he got really excited and said that he was super stoked that Chase had plans to go international soon, which means that he could visit other countries.

Anyways, the whole thing with taking my mother off the account didn't work out because she would have to be present and signed this thing where she agreed to be taken off my account. Yeah, that's not gonna work. He said to just explain it to her, but I told him that he didn't know my mother.

What I'm doing is closing down my account and creating a new one. Problem solved. He gave me his business card so I could call him when I decide to open the new account. His name is Monsieur P. Southerland.

I'll definitely call. If I still have the business card, of course.

I've given Mlle. Jang the link to this blog, which means more censoring. Unless I can get her to stop reading it until the end. On the flip side, I've told M. Giusti that I am recanting my promise of giving him the link. I just feel uncomfortable with him knowing some things about me. I just feel like he's judging me and disappointed in seeing the real, nasty version come out. I just feel like he's put me on this pedestal for so long, imagining that I'm this lovely, kind, and innocent little girl that will always stay that way.

I don't need another copy of my mother, thank you very much.

I actually had a really good conversation with Mlle. Jang yesterday. She just seems more open than Mlle. Smith. Mlle. Smith seems increasingly close-minded to me now. I think we've outgrown each other. I have increasingly find myself without things to say to her because of that. There's really not much to talk about anymore. She finds it weird that I keep in touch with some of the guys on Chatroulette. She thinks I'm crazy for believing in the correlations between chemicals one's body produces and attraction even though it's scientifically backed.

On the other hand, Mlle. Jang laughs at stupid stuff with me. She listens to my stories about M. Dow without judging. Mlle. Tran the Younger listens too. I like that.

Talking about friendship makes me think of the other day when we were talking about weddings and our bridal parties. Mlle. Jang asked if Mlle. Smith would be my maid of honor, and I immediately said "no" without thinking. I feel bad because Mlle. Smith looked a bit hurt, but at least she was still a bridesmaid. I BS-ed my way out of that one, saying that I needed someone who wasn't wishy-washy, and Mlle. Smith said she understood.

That's not why. I'm constantly on the lookout for a candidate to be my maid of honor. Someone who can pass for my twin, yet is not uglier or prettier than me. Someone who is on the same wavelength. Someone who can finish my thoughts and sentences. Someone who always know the right presents to give me because she understands me so perfectly. Someone who will bitch-slap me when I step out of line. Someone who will force me to eat when I should but don't feel like eating. Someone who will love me regardless of my faults and misgivings, of my shallowness and pettiness, of my callousness and weaknesses, etc...

Once I find her, that girl will be my maid of honor.

If this is what I look for in a best girl friend, what exactly am I looking for in a soul mate?

Waiting is a trap. There will always be reasons to wait. The truth is, there are only two things in life, reasons and results, and reasons simply don't count.

M. Dow has this ability to bring up things I want to say but am unable to say it.

I hate it when you care more than other person. Or when the other person cares for you so much more than you care for them. It just needs to be the right amount.

I always wonder if he gets bored talking to me. Today, he brought it up, asking if I'd get bored talking to him since I mentioned I get bored of people easily. Since we were being perfectly honest, I told him.

He's always trying to convince me not to wait, and I've told him I'm having second thoughts about waiting, but I think I will probably (the chances are higher than 70%) wait until marriage. Since then, he thinks I'm going to crack. Well, I said, "I'm going to prove you wrong." Then, for some reason, I wondered out loud if I'd see him at my wedding. He said that it would depend on the location. I said it might be abroad. He said, no, but if it was in NY, he'd definitely go.

Then he asked why we'd have to wait till my wedding to see each other and why we couldn't just meet to hangout. Well, that'd be kind of hard since I live in California and he New York. I mean, that'd be nice, but I think it's much much much too soon right now to be meeting.

I'm sleepy. I can't think straight. I will write more tomorrow.

Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it's a comfort to go hand in hand.

I wonder if I live vicariously through M. Dow. I sure hope not. He's a pleasant person to talk to, but I'd hate to become obsessively attached to him.

At first, I showed him songs from Amelie and he showed me classical music and this screamo song that was actually pretty good. Then...

We discussed his kinky sexual habits. Jesus, he's very adventurous and experimental between the sheets. And on the other end of the spectrum, there are people like me.

We went from there and got to the topic of marriage. I said I didn't want to not get married because then I would feel like my relationship wasn't stable. He said if he could find a compatible person, he would marry her if that's what she wanted. He said he'd married me if I wanted; he did admit that the scenario was far fetch but not impossible. I said we wouldn't be compatible. He said he thought that we were. I said that he'd be the one thinking for the two of us while I'd be in the corner just following along. He said that he was trying to get me to think for myself, but I could feel his influence whether he extended them or not.

I swear to God, he looks so clean cut and innocent, like someone I would bring home to meet the parents, but he's totally not. Like, my parents would be fooled and they would love him though. The bunch of them don't like black people, are homophobic, don't believe in welfare, and think whites and Asians are the best. Plus, he's atheist and he's a musical genius, so it's perfect. My mother would love him.

Except I feel like he's leading me down the road of depravity. He doesn't believe in honor. He believes that we were born simply to have children to preserve the human race, and everything else in life is just decorations. Well, that's lovely, but having children is definitely not my main goal in life. I believe in honor. I definitely believe in honor.

Speak of which, I found out today that Mlle. Connelly, who is Catholic and was supposed to wait for marriage, actually had already had sex. Like, she was reluctant, but the way she told it was like he pressured her into doing it. She said their whole relationship was based on sex. She told me to wait and that she regretted not waiting.

It just seems like we are forced to grow up too fast. M. Dow says sex isn't a big deal, and yeah, it's convincing when it's told from a guy's perspective and over the Internet. But here is my good friend, one of us, a part of me, being forced and pressured into having sex. I don't think girls can separate affection from sex like guys can. It's just not the same. I know I'm not the most authoritative person to speak about this subject, but I don't like it. Not one bit. I said she should dump him. She's too good for him. He'll only cripple her and drag her down.

So...M. Lythgoe. What is up with that kid? The office girl came today in math class to deliver notes, and M. Lythgoe got one. Yeah, so what? Big deal. But he let out a loud "whoot." I couldn't help but turned around and looked. He made eye contact with me and looked at me as he smiled and said, "I'd never gotten one before." Of course, I couldn't help it and smiled, but I averted my eyes and returned to my task. He left the class. While he was gone, the class was broken up into groups of four to work on the FRQ's from last week's AP Test (oh, God. Why couldn't we just left it be?). He came back and joined my group even though my group already had four people while Mlle. Pillado's group only had three. I didn't talk to him much because I resolved to give him the cold shoulder when I found out he asked Mlle. Pillado to Prom. Mme. Kennedy later took him from our group and had him form another group with Mlle. Yun from our class to work on the last problem.

I hate how boys give mixed signals. Either you like me or you don't. Stop jerking my chains. But that's okay if he tries because I won't let him disturb my chains the second time around.

I am now friends with M. Reyniers on Facebook. Yup. Exciting news.

Beauty was my mothers law, her religion.

On Thursday, Monsieur Reyniers—this British guy that I met on Chatroulette a while ago—and I talked on Skype. The day before, we briefly talked about Osama bin Ladin, and he sent me this link to documentaries. I watched them. Crazy stuff. So, on Thursday, we kind of talked about that a bit more. Then he asked me about my studies, and I asked him about his line of work. He works for an advertising firm, and the way he describes it makes it seems so interesting and appealing. Like, no joke. He showed me some of the ones that he’d produced. Good stuff. We talked about wine and cultural things.

Then his drunk cousin came home. He’s called Nicholaus. Nicholaus then told me about his date while M. Reyniers tried to get him to leave us alone. Nicholaus asked me if I’d been on a date, and I’d said no because that’s the truth. He was all shocked. He then said I should get together with M. Reyniers, and we laughed since M. Reyniers and I always joked that M. Reyniers was too old—he’s 29. Having conversations with drunk people is the most interesting thing ever. We kind of stopped the conversation because Nicholaus wanted to retire and M. Reyniers had to make sure that he was okay.

I went and finished up my commentaries for the portfolio. And then M. Dow and I talked for four hours.

On Friday, I only went to second period to take my Calculus final. I spent the rest of the day preparing finishing up my portfolio and hanging out. Mlle. Jang finished all 12 Concentration pieces the night before, and I bought her a breakfast burrito to reward her. So did M. Ward, but I didn’t buy him one.

The thing was, everyone was supposed to finish their portfolio and send it to Mme. Mills before noon, which is when the testing period was for Studio Art AP, and we were supposed to be done before 1—ideally, so we could all leave. It actually is supposed to go all the way to five o’clock, but everyone wants to leave early, obviously. Mlle. Ocampo had another AP test before, so she came in at half past noon, which was understandable, but we were just all so pissed when she said she had to take pictures of some of her art works, edit them, and upload them to the site. She hadn’t done her commentaries either. We finished at two o’clock—an hour late.

Mlles. Jang and Smith and I went to Pink Cherries (or whatever the name is) and got frozen yogurt. Good stuff.

Then I came home and read White Oleander since M. Dow was spending the night at the house of the girl that he liked. I didn’t know. I only knew they were going to hangout. So when he didn’t come on at eight, which was eleven for him, I kind of figured he got lucky that night. He later told me that they just hung out and he slept on the floor (on a mattress) in her room. That's awfully romantic. I'd love to be in a relationship like that. He's planning on giving her flowers since she's said she's never received flowers before. Sure, it sounds mushy and everything, but that's pretty sweet for someone who's an asshole.

White Oleander is such a good book! I am in love with the way the author describes beauty. It’s my kind of beauty: traveling all over the world, having beautiful and classy clothes, and having a sophisticate mannerism. But I wouldn’t trade place with the heroine. She’s forced to grow up too fast, too soon. I’d like to retain my childlike thoughts and to blush like someone unjaded.

M. Dow messaged me the moment I got home, which was eight—eleven for him. We looked up porn together although I could only stomach the first few seconds. That didn’t work out, so he showed me other videos like One Guy and One Jar and Two Girls and a Cup. He’d watch each video first so I could kind of get a feel for it by watching his reactions. I don’t know. I thought One Guy and One Jar wasn’t that bad—yeah, he was shoving a jar up his anus and it exploded and he bled, but watching Two Girls and a Cup kind of stimulated my gag reflex.  Then he told me of his plan to not masturbating since it lowered his zinc and testosterone level.  I like talking about stuff like that, like things you do and how it affects your body on the chemical levels. Mlle. Smith and Mlle. Jang and my girl friends wouldn’t understand. Mlle. Karch probably knows, but she seems so chaste and virginal to me; I don’t know if she’d know about that kind of stuff, you know?

We talked about our prospective partners. He liked Asian girls, preferably atheists, but he’d tolerate Buddhists and Agnostics. I liked white guys, preferably atheists or Agnostics. It would be awkward to bring up the fact that we fulfill each other’s requirements, so I didn’t. But he did since he possessed the IQ of 130 but almost no inhibition. He said that we should enter a pact where we’d have children together if things end up not working out. I agreed, because there’d be no harm since things will work out. I think our kids would be funny looking though. Maybe that’s not such a good idea.

Anyways, remember that guy that told me that he loved me? Over the Internet? He’s not actually who I think he is. The guy that I’m thinking of is from the Netherlands, not Austria. The guy that I’m thinking of is very, very, very cute and has a giant painting of New York in the back of him. The guy that I’m thinking of loves kids and wants to work with mentally retarded children. That guy doesn’t love me and he isn’t creepy. Thank God.

M. Dow told me he wanted to see me without make up. I told him, not in this lifetime. 

Here are some of my Breadth pieces:

Sometimes we're so concerned about giving our children what we never had growing up, we neglect to give them what we did have growing up.

M. Dow and I talked again today. Surprise surprise.

It's kind of amazing that I can talk to him about anything. Like, I never thought that I could open up to another human being like that. Especially a boy. Especially a boy like M. Dow.

I told him about some of the things I've wrote about on this blog. About how I sometimes feel like I have no identity; like, I don't know who I am. I know I'm supposed to be, but I don't want to be that person. I've told someone that as long as I keep up my facade, it'll continue to act as a shell to cover the emptiness that's inside. It's sad to think that I'm empty inside. I have my mother imposing her will on me at home, and I have expectations for me at school.

I can't wait until next year, where I'll be away from my mother, friends, and their expectations, and just start growing as a person. I'm already 18. I thought this transformation was supposed to be done and over with.

I have a friend, Mlle. Karch, who is amazingly intelligent and beautiful, except she doesn't think so. She always says that I am pretty, and she always looks like she's embarrassed about herself when she says it. Like, I just so so so glad that no matter how intelligent she is, she still can't read minds. If we were to strip down, bare and naked; no clothes with flattering cuts, no tights that accentuate lengths, no sweaters that conceal curves, no make-up, nothing...we wouldn't even be on the same level. It's weird to think of people looking at me when I'm unclothed, but I just feel like they wouldn't give me a second glance if that was the case. Like, I'm not a lesbian or a bisexual or anything, but I even get amazed, and I'm a girl. She doesn't even wear make-up, and sometimes when we're talking, I'd just interrupt her and say, "You're so pretty; I'm jealous."

But thank God we live in a shallow and materialistic world where minor tricks and gimmicks mask emptiness and ugliness. But only for a while. I seriously need to grow as a person.

M. Dow told me that I was interesting to talk to when I told him all that. I was like, "WHAT?! I know you're sleepy, but if you're that delirious, go to bed." He says he likes talk to me because I'm a contemplative person and he likes to hear my thoughts. I like to hear my thoughts too. When I try to voice them, they come out awkward. He sums it up nice and tidy for me.

I wonder how long our little thing will last? He must get bored of talking to such an insecure girl sooner or later, and he already told me earlier that he found insecurity very unattractive.

I thought I was done with the headband craze (I owned more than ten different headbands at the beginning of this year; that number is gradually decreasing thanks to a little thing call inertia), but now I seriously want to buy more headbands. Like, no joke.

Guess who I parked next to today at the place to take the Calc. AP test? Who else but M. Lythgoe and his giant-ass truck? He keeps looking at me. If he has something to say, he should say it.

There is a great relief in experiencing the worst vicariously.

M. Dow and I talked for three hours straight yesterday. That's the longest time I've ever seriously talked to anybody. I really do enjoy talking to him even if he's homophobic. He's just very open. Like, you know how girls are looking for Mr. Right? Well, me too, but not Mr. Right All the Time (ha-ha. I'm so funny I crack myself up). But having a Mr. Right All the Time to turn to for advices and stuff? Isn't that, like, perfect or what?

I gotta stop saying like. I sound so dumb when I do, but I feel like my speech is naked when I don't.

Today, we talked for an hour. Well, not really. It was actually a pretty boring hour. He was texting and I was listening to Ed Sheeran. He told me (on and off) about this girl that he really liked and showed me a picture, but I think she looks like a skank. Not because I'm jealous. It's just how I feel. But maybe she looks horrible in pictures. I know how that feels. I'll just trust his judgement on her prettiness since he uses that same scale when he tells me I'm pretty. Anyways, I got bored, so I feigned sleepy and ended the call.

Then I uploaded some of my Concentration pieces to the College Board website. Like, that whole time, I could feel depression creeping up on me again. Like, it's this feeling where something is clawing at the top of my stomach, an inch below the sternum, trying to climb up my esophagus. It's not a pleasant feeling. I hate it. I hate the warmer weather that always seems to trigger it. I need to go somewhere nice and cold all the time.

Then M. Dow video called me again and we talked for another hour. Like, actually talked this time. I told him about my mom and how her attachment issues. He was telling me stuff, and, all of the sudden, I started tearing up. I excused myself and went to the bathroom to wipe my tears. I knew it wasn't noticeable that I had tears in my eyes because I looked at my part of the screen right before and tried to act as normally as possible, but when I came back, he apologized for making me feel upset. Honestly, I'm getting my period soon. I always get depressed and become an emotional wreck right before, but the second part is a bit more manageable since I know about it. Anyways, we talked about depression, and he told me some really personal thing that I won't mention on here since M. Giusti will read it when I'm done with this blog at the end of the summer and I won't feel right indirectly telling someone someone else's secret. Like, yeah, I gossip. Not gonna lie, but this is different. It's not like, oh, that weirdo Johnny says he likes our Sarah; he says not to tell her; like hell we're not going to tell. It's not like that. It's like, deep stuff.

Anyways, I tell him how I sometimes feel lonely. Like, I just feel like people here aren't on my wavelength and they're not on mine. Yesterday, M. Dow showed me a video explaining how the string theory works and explained it to me more when I got lost. This morning, I asked Mlle. Smith if she knew about the string theory, and the first thing out of her was, "It's retarded." I barely finished my sentence. I was just so appalled. I asked her how it is retarded and she said, "I don't know. It's just retarded."

It's kind of cliché, but I just died a little bit right there. Like, this is my best friend. The one person that I'm closest with. Just dismissing something like this just because she doesn't understand it. I'm feel bad talking about my own best friend like this, but she just seems so ignorant to me right then.

Anyways, so I told him that I've got no one to talk to about things that I want to talk about, and he was like, "Well, you can talk to me." I smiled, of course, because I'm always smiling, and said thank you. Then I went on and described how I envision my ideal best girl friend to be. Like, I want her to look kind of like me...like, we could be taken for twins or sisters. Our appearance would compliment each other's. She'd be on the same wavelength as me. So, I told him and he said that I was way too idealistic and I'd just end up disappointed in the end. Then I got teary-eyed again and he looked like he felt so bad, but I told him, so we were good.

I shouldn't have promised M. Giusti access to this blog. It's become an edited, fragmented, and impartial representation of my life and feelings. I've just realized that today when I chose not to put in M. Dow's reasons for being depressed.

Anyways, I've picked my five Quality pieces.

The last one was fought over when a copy went on sale. I'm so incredibly flattered, so I told my mother. She said something like, who in their right mind would pay money for that photo? Like, my mood was so good before, and the moment she said, it's just like, I need to get out of here. But she stayed and asked me where Mlle. Velasco was going next year. I told her SBCC, and she was like, "Why?" I was like, well, she wants to get out of the city but she still doesn't want to pay a lot, that's why. And she was like, "Kids over here are so traitorous. What about her mother and all those kids?" I'm sorry, but it was her mother's decision to have those kids and her responsibilities shouldn't be left to Mlle. Velasco to sacrifice her youth the way my mother's asking me to sacrifice mine. God, now I'm all pissed off.

M. Dow thinks my mother is living vicariously through me. I suspected as much. I just want her to leave me live my own life, free from her interference. I want to be financially stable first, though, before I confront her. She'd thrown me out before over something ridiculous before. I'm planning to go abroad Junior year in college and I think that's when I'm doing it. I'll be calling from the airport and be all, "Hey, I'm going to England in a few minutes. See ya in a couple of months. K. Bye!" and deal with the consequences when I come back.

Eff this. My mother needs to get her own life. I feel so frustrated.