I'm going to go take an off-brand antihistamine (Diphedryl, anyone?) and drink a bunch of milk, then come back and finish this.
In my secret heart of hearts, I desperately want emo-hair. I was just up in the bathroom, and often in front of the mirror, I'll brush it forwards with my hands just to see how it'd look. It's long enough now that I can do that. I don't know, I think I wash my hair too often for it to work, if I leave it like that for an extended period of time it settles in and then I look like a fucking Von Trapp child rather than a deep, soulful screechy-voiced guy.
But I AM wearing a sweater, and for just a second, I turned away, turned back, and it looked kinda tight. If I had thick glasses, it would be ON. I don't have any glasses on hand, though. I tried doing the Junior-Birdman thing with my hands. It doesn't really have the same effect.
I either need to get a damn haircut or start wearing it like this all the time, 'cause the in-between look is killing me. KILLING me with sticks and leaving me in a ditch.
Mel is staring at me from the preview Blogger window underneath the space where I'm writing this post. Stop distracting me. Stupid model. (By the way, thanks much to Tony for sending folks my way to help her get elected Mayor of Hometown-Honeyville.)
High school's end is rushing up all too fast for my taste, and it's going to be a busy last three or four weeks. Two improv shows, the senior show, writing that second one-act I've never started for Advanced Studies, doing a ten-minute video for Humanities, trying to secure a more lucrative job for summer, Prom...Frantic, but I wouldn't have it any other way, now would I?
No, no I wouldn't.
I taped a note to a girl's locker today, because how much longer am I going to be able to do that? And then I came out to the parking lot after rehearsal and she'd taped a note to my car, and yes, she will go to Prom with me. And tommorrow I'm going to ask her to go see Ghostbusters with me at Madstone and I bet you she'll say yes even if she hates Bill Murray and Harold Ramis beat up her dad, because she so totally digs me.
One year later, back in the saddle. 'Bout damn time.
You tell me you're blue
you're just confused
it's that you haven't been this happy in minutes
- Hey Mercedes, "Haven't Been This Happy"