(no subject)

I haven't really had much to write recently, hence the lack of any sort of writing. But I do now! At three o'clock in the morning!

I don't know why I can't sleep, but I dislike it. I'm writing and hoping that I get sleepy, and hoping for honesty at hours which I shouldn't even be seeing. There definitely is a difference between night things and day things; I've never seen the face of night, as the main character does in Night, but a lot of what Elie Wiesel writes about night and day resonates with me now as it did not when I first read the book.

Maybe I should reread it. That would be cool.

It occurs to me that I don't even know who I'm writing for. As far as I know, it's for the (ahem) amusement of myself only, maybe Chris, maybe 'Lena.

My foot hurts, and I'm getting random. This is all the fault of the guy who asked us to play volleyball at the beach. If not for him, I would never have stepped on something sharp. The trip was fun, though. We rode in the Mustang with the top down and windows up, playing The Who as loudly as we could manage, and watched some guys get a lecture from the cops. Guys who had been staring up at us, and loudly identifying the balcony that was ours, probably a nonsubtle hint to come down. We laughed at them, but not to them. Sometimes, I do enjoy being a girl.

Yesterday feels like a yesterday now, so I am going to observe technicalities and call April 8th yesterday. Today is three o'clock in the morning, and a certain sort of calm that I don't usually feel at other times of the day or night.

Yesterday was a guitar day. Chrisbro got my guitar when I realized that I wasn't going to give it the attention it deserved, and, being bored, he pulled it out to play with. He picked out some simplified tunes--from "Nothing Else Matters," "Smoke on the Water," something else that I know that I know but couldn't identify. I started playing with it a little bit, and surprised myself at how many chords I still remembered. Not a whole lot, but most of the ones I had learned. Apparently what he really wants to play is the drums. Part of me rejects this idea utterly, not because it's a bad idea, but because they're freaking loud. The other part thinks it's damn cool.

I think of me at college sometimes, and this bothers me. I don't feel ready to regulate my own time. Part of this might be that Mom never leaves me alone about schoolwork. I know she's right, but all it does is make me want to do it less. Which is still letting her control what I do, because I'm doing what she doesn't want me to do, but that isn't very convincing, and I'm immature. I really really want to go, and be forced to do it on my own, but to a certain degree I'm afraid that I won't do it if no one is making me but myself, because honestly? I don't care that much, I don't think. Maybe I do. My grade in English is actually higher this semester than it was last semester, and I honestly don't care that much about the numbers in that class anymore. As long as they're high enough to snag me a B, I'm cool, and I could probably get a B in English in my sleep.

Hmm. If I ever tried to write any of this stuff during the day, I don't think it would work. Yay, a little, for insomnia. Don't know if I'm actually going to get any sleep tonight, but this was fun.