"Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies." Unknown
So . . . I am getting my Ally McBeal poem that I wrote for English published in a school webzine (I'll post the URL when I get it), whoopee!
And I got a phone call from John- surprise, surprise. He's already sick of Livermore (I said, "Join the club") and gets yelled at for spending too much (I said "Shoot, I don't even have to be home to get yelled at for that."). Anyway, I was entertained by his sightings of various people from town. Interestingly enough, this one girl we both knew asked him out, and when he said no, she called him to tell him what a loser he was (gee, don't that sound familiar). He somehow pissed her off so much that she hung up on him. Hmmmmm. Anyway, Anna, he wanted your #, so watch out . . .
And then I had to call Mom about something, and she kept going on to me about how I shouldn't blow The Moron off because a. it was too mean (do unto others thing), b. it would really end the whole thing (I said "Good" and "It's not as if I have any hope here"), and c. "he never promised you anything." I have to agree with that one, but whatever happened to "friends?" I know damned well that he still talks to people in Santa Barbara and Missouri and Washington D.C. for chrissake, so he can't use the distance thing there. He just wants to be rid of me, obviously- and frankly, I just wish that he'd told me to go to hell and not let me pretend that I still have a friend (or whatever the hell it is) when I don't. Bottom line: nothing decided.
I went to English club- which was once again funny (the topics of discussion included weird professors, PMS, and various horrible injuries). As it turned out, I"m now also doing a "banned book reading" on Wednesday (Brave New World- I'm picking either a sex or drug part).
Then I came home and Lisa told me that she had gotten into Barnard (in N.Y.) and she'll be going there. I'm happy for her . . . but then again I'll probably never see her again. Which rots. (Sigh- conflicting feelings are fun)
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