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It feels like forever since I've written in one of these journals.

I don't have much to say, though. School is still school. Boys are still idiots. I love my friends dearly, but sometimes I don't think about the ways that the things I do affect them.

I'm a fairly open person around the right people, but I realized that people who don't know me very well see me differently when I'm being me versus when I'm being guarded. I didn't realize it bugged some of my friends until they brought it up, so now I've got something else to keep in mind.

I'm not sure if it's because I don't have a particular guy in mind, or what. The last one who really occupied my mind lives two hundred miles away, and all the ones closeby are either gay, assholes, taken, or unobtainable. It frustrates me, but at the same time I wonder if I've been doing something wrong.

I guess it's sort of an "oh well" thing. I've gotten friends together, and I love seeing them happy. I guess I just want that sort of happiness for myself. I'm lonely. Ha ha, the joke's on me.

I keep wasting my time with the worst people. I want to be happy, too. Is that a crime now? Some thing that I didn't know I did?

I don't know.
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On a different topic, a friend stopped by to come and chat. I tried to tell him I was busy writing, but he scoffed and said that I couldn't be busy if I was "writing". Now, before he had dropped by, I had read an e-mail from NaNoWriMo, telling us to treat writing as our "job".

To keep regular hours, or to keep writing until we had the specified word count needed for that day. Or to exceed said word count. I have no idea what I'm going to write about; be it suicide letters or a series of journal entries, perhaps a love story or two.

Creepy short stories that are phychologial thrillers, that send shivers down your spine and make you stay up late at night because you think the bogeyman that's hiding in your closet is going to c**k its head out the door and say hello.

I write best while listening to music, but I'm not sure what to write about half the time. I'm hoping that at a party I'm going to tonight, I can ask some people for ideas. I had two ideas that were slightly-ish romantic.

A Greek God falls in love with a mere mortal girl in the world of Latin Club. She teases him, and behind her cool mask is a red-faced teenager whose heart can't stop flitting around in her chest. He just laughs and lets her go. (I have no idea where this story would go, hence the issue with it).

The other idea I'm not even going to get into, because it sucks. There's also a coming-out story that I thought of, but it wouldn't work, simply because I could never write something like that. I epically fail at things like that, because I'm not sure how to say it.

I can't write romance. I don't know if it's because there's either too much, or absolutely none in my own life. In the web of my own mind, I've been trying to think of other things to write about. Sometimes, singing helps. But that's about it.
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