The insanity of my decision to move is sinking in more every day. Especially today. I am hesitant to say I am sorry I came. I’m glad I’m here with Teddy.
But, my God, the thought processes of these people.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel rather alone here. I suppose I am making friends. But I don’t belong here. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong, but something is. I want to go home. I can’t tell Teddy that – it will hurt and/or scare him. I can’t tell my friends that because they will just say “Then come HOME!” They won’t understand what keeps me here. I don’t understand what keeps me here. I just don’t think I can leave him here to face this by himself. Whether I’m right about him or not, I don’t know that I’m capable of hurting someone like that.
At least I hope to God I’m not.
But I’m scared, and lonely, and I sometimes just want to run. I shouldn’t be feeling that way. Stupid brain.

Ok, so there was this potato named Bob. Bob was a unique potato, unlike his friends his skin didn’t peel as well as the others. And his classmates made fun of him all the time for it. He would always go home crying and wish that he could be like the others. One day, instead of going home he just kept walking. He didn’t know where he was going but he wanted something else in life. He wanted to be liked. He continued past his neighborhood and into the city. It was scary with all the lights and commotion, but he didn’t care.
He kept on, as if he were searching for something. The buildings towered over him very much like his classmates who would laugh and point at him for being different. He ran into a small dwelling at the edge of the city. It was dark and cold. There was another potato there, he smelled awful. He handed Bob a bag. “Here take this, you will feel a lot better about yourself.” So he did, he didn’t care what he had to do, he just wanted to be liked. So he took the drugs, and from then on he was a Baked Potato.

I wish I could carry a camera all the time. I had a digital but for some reason it just stopped working and even my dad can’t fix it. There’s a bunch of colored daisies that have dried on the shelf of the Atlas study row. A heart that someone scraped on the desk with some kind of grime. Just a bunch of untold stories. Speaking of which…
I love stories. Some science fiction. A little fantasy. An occasional dose of the real world. But more than anything else, I love stories about what could have happened – stories of “if only” and “maybe”. Stories with a little uncertainty and a little unhappiness.
I miss writing so much. I’ve run out of time and inspiration. Inspiration is the key thing though – if I have enough of that, I write until my fingers ache.
It’s ridiculous to think about writing as a career though.
I still can’t help it.

So, my boyfriend is meeting with my dad right now. I feel like a Jane Austen girl, waiting for her suitor to emerge from her father’s study, breathless with hope. He’s a little nervous. Teddy, I mean. I don’t know exactly how my dad feels. I really need to do something else right now.

http://turtleseatpeaches.com/wordpress/?p=1092
So, remember this? Well, tonight, I used the men’s bathroom. Yeah. Um. I don’t really have a lot of words for that.

Okay, so, if I must keep injuring myself this way, it would behoove me to make an effort not to consistently injure my hand. I was breaking today, in preparation for my 2nd Dan test and the tournament, and I rolled my fist. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that I didn’t break the board, and now my knuckle is about twice the size it ought to be and will take about three months to recover.
Also, hooray for Arizona tea.

It baffles me how catchy LMFAO is. I used to hate them. Even now, every time they come out with a new song, I don’t really like it. Then I listen to it a few times, and before I know it, I’m hooked. It doesn’t hurt that almost every song they make is fantastic for dancing to.
My back is bloody killing me. When one is the only girl who knows how to lead in a group of five girls who like to dance, it would be best if one did not teach them how to dip. One’s latissimus dorsi will seek revenge. Every time I talk like that, I remember Sheldon Cooper (from the Big Bang Theory) saying, “Incidentally, one can get beaten up in school simply by referring to oneself as ‘one.'”
Apparently that changes in college.

I’ve got Caravan Palace stuck in my head. I cannot stop listening to it. I keep finding new songs that I recognize from swing dancing.
On a slightly different note (but still related), I discovered that if you type repeat after youtube and before .com, it will play the song on repeat.
This whole thing is a bit problematic because I have math homework that is increasingly difficult to concentrate on.
Be still, my feet!

Wow. School came in with quite the bang this quarter. No build-up, no chance to get your head, just, it’s-the-first-day-and-you-have-ten-assignments-due-tomorrow-please-use-pencil-for-the-written-ones-and-for-heaven’s-sakes-don’t-forget-to-double-space madness.