In the midst of my extreme boredom I started doodling all over my textbook. My hand conceived a life of its own, and I found myself writing "gem". I felt stupid doing it, like how you would if you were caught masturbating by your parents. I quickly erased it off.
Nmj signed my guestbook. Thank you.
Finally given an essay for English. I'm too lazy to get started on it though. Isn't that fun? The air-con is switched on right now, because I cannot take the heat. I forgot to record the live broadcast of the Oscars. I'm wondering if The Lord of the Rings won Best Picture. I know I can check, but I wanna see it for myself. It's dumb and stuff but that's what I do, so...
The Athlete brought some photographs of her church activity to school today, and me and my friends were looking through them, evaluating, so to speak, the guys (I wasn't, but I was listening). The Athlete has this male friend who's kind of more than a friend, and he's kind of cute, but the thing is, none of them can match Gem in the looks department. How terribly sad. Not that it matters, but although I've decided to talk to the guy, deep down, I know something would definitely go wrong. We're talking about me here...so far, I can't think of an occasion when something really important to me went my way. I was all ready to go down and make an effort to say hello and all last Friday. I even had a seemingly foolproof plan, but it didn't take off. Needless to say, I sulked for 3 hours straight and wrote pages after pages of shit in my diary.
Sometimes, things get to a point where I can predict its outcome, and most of the time, the prediction is 1) nothing pretty, and 2) always right. It's important that I don't fumble when I actually do the deed, because if I end up with my face all red, and I'm not talking about it in a positive way, I can never go back to the restaurant again, and that would suck.
I dreamt of a number that he gave me. He paged me via my watch, which became super high-tech in the dream, and the number appeared with his name in a scrolling marquee. I remembered it when my mom woke me up, and repeated it to myself in my head as I drag myself out of bed and into my room, where I quickly scribbled it down on my foolscap pad. It has 8 digits. It ends with a 6. I thought it could be an ICQ number, but I typed it in and got some American girl. Typed it backwards, and got some Troy guy.
It has to be a phone number. And it's possible when read backwards, because now all the phone numbers start with a 6. I can, of course, find out, but I'm not going to do it. What if it really was? What can I say? "Hi there, you don't know me but can you go out with me anyway"?
I don't think so.