This is a bowl of the NEW! Frosted Toast Crunch. I don’t like my cereal, or anything really, with milk. And yes. That is a fork. It’s a fine cereal. It’s not my favorite, and the “frosted” thing is not as new or excited as it sounds. But it is fun to eat. And that’s kind of important.

I was at work today wondering if this would be my life. My parents paid a lot for my education so I could have a real career–the kind of job they said would make me happy. And I’d always imagined that beginning the day after I graduated from college. I didn’t know how it would happen. I just figured everything would, somehow, fall into place. I’d have a book deal and a friendly agent who BELIEVED in my flash fiction and promised to do all he/she could do to get my works in the hands of The People. I’d be motivated. I’d be paid well enough to be comfortable. I’d be totally free of acne.
I never imagined I’d be booking deals, closing repair orders, adjusting finances, or scanning papers behind a desk at a car dealership. If I wasn’t depressed before, I am now. Well. I’m just saying that. I actually might, sort of, probably, be clinically depressed. I mean. Since forever. Or high school, at least. And I don’t really want to talk about it. I just want someone to give me pills that will keep my hormones, or whatever, in balance. So I don’t have to walk around with my dream head all the time. But that’s not what this is about. My job, the job I have right now, does not make me happy. Depression, well, that’s just a side note. Because most of the people I work with are nice. And in a different setting, I’m sure we could have a fun time. But I spend my time at work thinking of places I’d rather be. Of the chair I’ll fall asleep in at home. The things I’ll look up on the Internet when I have time. And the bowl of cereal that may just be the coolest thing to happen to me all day.

My inability to find satisfaction in all of this serves as a strange sort of hope that this is not It. It can’t be, right?!

Daniel and I went to lunch in Haleiwa today. He didn’t have class until later this afternoon, so we left the house around 10:20 and took the long way to Cholo’s Homestyle Mexican. The ride there was nice. The surf was huge and exciting and reminded me of the dream I had last night of even greater waves. That was exciting, too. A little over an hour later, we were hungry and ready to eat. The restaurant doesn’t have many good reviews on Yelp, but if I were to write one, it would say nice things. If you follow me on Facebook, you might have already “liked” the picture of my morning margarita.

It was delicious. And the boy I was with is the best company. You can see him in the background, keeping still for the photo.

And then we went home. And I tried to get good pictures on the road with my phone from a moving, tinted vehicle.

The sky was misty or hazy for a while, but there were a few sections of road along our trip where we could look up and see blue. It wasn’t new or exciting, ominous or eerie, it wasn’t even the brightest, most beautiful blue I’d ever seen, but it was nice. And even if it wasn’t the kind of sky I’d see in my dreams, I could appreciate it for being whatever it was. Maybe I’d be happier if I had more moments like those.

They were cleaning the left side of the tunnel on the H3, so traffic was pretty much stopped for a few minutes. I took the opportunity to roll down the windows and see the mountain up close, less of a blur than I’d probably ever seen there before.

I really enjoyed the different perspective. When traffic began moving again, I was sad the world was normal again. But I had to pee really badly, so a bladder-sized part of me was thankful.

So, tonight I was outside da house and saw some punk kids riding bike. If I was someone else, brah, I get some choice words fo dem. Dey tink dey tough, ah? Can say whateva kine, talk big, when get plenny udda punk kids wit’um. Lucky I not one crazy guy. Get nutz on dem fo talk. Brah, I was tinking about it fo litto longa den I like say. I wanted fo be dat guy. I wanted fo tell you all about it lata, too. But den I was like, nah. Nah! No good! Get plenny people get nuts on me fo be dat guy. So I tink–mo betta try stay good. Mo betta be “da bigga man.” Not koo when olda guys beat up litto keeds anyway. Still might be koo fo me, one girl, beat up da punk high skoo boy who tink he tough, but gotta give’um chance. Let’um go. Uncle goin lick’um lata.

ALSO, last night I dreamt my eighth grade/high school graduation was happening in my driveway. I’d forgotten it was today, so while my classmates were filing into position and someone was about to say the prayer, I ran inside to find a dress and remember the speech I was supposed to give. I couldn’t do either, and the rest of my dream was scenes from Diary of A Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules.

So, this Saturday has been nice. I’m afraid I have not yet revised my story. I almost woke up to write some time around five this morning. But for some reason, that didn’t work out. Maybe something good will come from the hour after midnight. Yeah. Maybe. But usually the stuff I write then is just embarrassing. I feel too free then. Like, I can say anything I want. It’s a sort of drunkenness that should not be published.

You know, I want to write drunk some time. I’ve typed drunken emails on my phone, but it would have been easier on my laptop. So, there’s probably more I could have said to that girl I met at school and like, so completely admire. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to find the message I sent her on Facebook, and tell you more about it.

Okay. I just did it. And I’m embarrassed all over again. Because I gushed over her the morning after! I told her how I think she’s so smart and cool and interesting, and how I can say all of that because we’re separated by a computer screen. And then she responds all nice and cool, like I hadn’t made a fool of myself. And then she said we should have a shot of tequila together! And of course that doesn’t happen. Like, of course. Because I’m terrible at accepting invites from people I can’t imagine would really like to hang out with me. And because I’m generally terrible at hanging out. I feel out of place everywhere. I can’t even picture myself in a place that would serve me a shot of tequila. Unless it’s my house. But that would have been weird, too.

Anyway, I still doubt I’d be able to write a story without editing as I go along, but if I were under the influence of alcohol, I’d be more inclined to think I am too drunk to take my time with words. So, I feel I should do that soon. If I could get all my writer friends to be online at the same time with a couple margaritas in their system, I think we could create something wonderful. At the least, we can have a fun, nerdy chat.

I am such a loser. I’m going to start using tags now. Can we play a game?

Instead, I’ll do the Friday Five (a complete and total rip-off of Sarah Dessen‘s similarly named “Friday Five”). I want to adopt the idea, Sarah. We can share it.

1. It’s strange to be sitting here at 10pm just, like, relaxed. Relaxed in an energized Friday Night kind of way. Because just a few hours ago, I was in the same spot dreading another day at work in the office. And while I was there, at work I mean, the hours lasted at least 80 minutes. At least. I’m surprised I made it through. I don’t know how it happened, but work ended and I had a few hours of quality time with the boyfriend and the salad bar at Ruby Tuesday. After dinner we went to visit the puppies at the pet store, played a little Crane Game, and then went home when the stores started closing. It was a sweet, fun date.

2. The deadline for my story is Tuesday. I’d like to be done with it this weekend. If I can buckle down and clean it all up tomorrow, I’ll sleep on it, then submit on Sunday. That’s the plan. Remember the beginning of Limitless where Bradley Cooper looks like a hobo and resolves to never leave the room until he makes some progress with his novel? I am familiar with that resolution. And the dissolution of it when he decides a breath of fresh air might be of better help. But this is no time for dillydallying. I think I’m close enough to the deadline for my procrastination adrenaline to start kicking in. And I know we just had a lovely date, but we’ll have to celebrate this some time soon.

3. I’m realizing now how difficult it is to divide my day into five separate thoughts. I guess all this has to be is current, right? I mean, the days earlier this week are fair game. So. I really wish someone would have commented on my Making Out With Friends entry. I thought it was interesting. It kind of made me laugh. At least someone “liked” the link I posted on Facebook. I’ll just assume that means the same as liking the blog entry itself. But, really. Really. I hoped for more dialogue. Did Jen have an intriguing, secret past? Does she have the guts? Is she, like, serious? Come on.

4. Okay. About Ashton Kutcher. I know a lot of people don’t like him, but whenever they say it out loud (or on Facebook), I feel the need to defend him. I don’t have much to work with, but I feel I must do what I can to keep people from hatin’. I think it’s because of our history. In ninth grade Ashton and I, well, we were kind of a thing. He might not be the smartest of people, but his goofiness is charming and endearing. And from what I read on Twitter, he’s passionate about what he does. And that’s attractive. So is his hair.

5. This is a bad picture of my windshield as I was driving home from work this afternoon. I was afraid the light would change soon, so I had to be quick. The sun was bright, warm, and very summery for the 27th of January.

I spend a great deal of time wishing I was Someplace Else. Somewhere cold. Somewhere relaxing. Somewhere there are burritos. But right when I took this picture, I was content with being just there. It was nice, and it should happen more often. Maybe it’s a Friday thing.

That’s a quote from my dream. It looks better italicized, but it doesn’t feel like mine when it is. So, there. What do you think it means? It was said by a stranger in an empty, open garage. But it didn’t sound like he was speaking about anything that happened previously in the dream. The open garage was different, though. The majority of my dreams take place in stairwells, libraries, school hallways, hospital hallways, and parking garage structures. You know. Big, enclosed, maze-like settings. It’s not entirely uncommon for my dreams to take place out in the open. But if I was in a garage, this one might be notable. Also, I remember a t-shirt. An off-white tee with waves on the bottom, covering the bottom left or right portion of a big red circle that made me think of Japan.

There was a time when I thought about Japan a lot. Remember the mission trip on which I did not go? It was sort of a big deal and probably, kind of, maybe, the reason I haven’t really been to church for a while. I couldn’t deal with the pressure of…whatever it was that was.

In other less-frustrating news, I just ate a candy bar. A delicious bar of chocolate. Before I took the last bite, I wished it would last forever. But it didn’t. And I am a little more disappointed than I thought I’d be. Oh well. I have a Snapple to look forward to at work tomorrow. Thank you, Daniel. He is so hot when he buys me sweets.

OKAY. Now, please interpret my Dream Quote. I don’t think it had anything to do with the man fallen over the flower bush in his front yard who, it turned out, wasn’t dead, despite the “dead body” remark of the homeless passerby. Or his frequent predictions that he would die. Soon. And the dead birds, cats, and really hairy dogs alongside his home that I suspected were fake and made of plastic and glue, they were probably not that important.

Tomorrow is Thursday. I should work on my story. I have an ending, and it is attached. All that’s left to do now is clean it up. I’m not happy with my story. Thinking of it actually, sort of, depresses me. I wanted it to be GOOD. Like, I-know-I-said-it-sucks-but-it’s-actually-pretty-good kind of good. But I mean it! It’s BAD. And I know it. And I’d be ashamed to show it to anyone. I’m embarrassed for the Emmy, too. She’s the main character, and she has been bad. She’s sick. She probably shouldn’t have told me what she’s done. I wish she was better. And not so dumb and sappy. I wish she didn’t try so hard to be profound. If I was profound in any way, it was an accident. But Emmy has no excuses. If that’s even her name!

I would like to have been sitting in my grandparents’ driveway in 2006 chatting with a Just A Friend, and trying not to think too much about the way he poked my sides or seemed to scoot closer with every other minute. It would be interesting for boring old me to look back to a time when I was someone different. Someone who agreed to let a friend, Just A Friend, kiss me on the lips in the dark after a long conversation about other girls and his romantic feelings toward them. I would like to have been called at two a.m. by a Friend who might have said he wanted to talk, but actually wanted me. In his car. To kiss and to hold as if we hadn’t decided not to like each other. And when I’m stranded in town with bad feelings toward the people I’m with, I would like to have a Friend to call. To pick me up in his familiar car, and let me leave my bad feelings in a dramatic, mysterious fashion. Because we’d be a secret. A big, indecent, entirely exhilarating secret.

But if that were to happen, I’m sure Boring Old Me will have found a way to end it, even six years ago. But I’d have a story. And it would be sensational.

There must be some middle ground. And somewhere There, I will stand and not be so concerned with the people who are indifferent toward me. Because Here, I am concerned. It bothers me a lot. And in several places and around certain people, it consumes me. Yes. I am eaten up about it. I wonder why these groups have not accepted me. Like, really Accepted me. They are nice toward me. But I still scurry around the perimeters of their invisible fort, trying to scratch my way in. I have to have style. I must have a strange sense of humor, and I must laugh like I cannot control myself. I have to listen to obscure music. I have to love God with all my heart, and never fall away. I must hike. Be loud. Drink coffee. Be upbeat. Watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Prefer vampires to wizards. Dance.

Well, I’m sorry. I can’t. And it’s really, just really, sad how badly I wish I could. Just to be liked. By everyone. Well, I guess now it’s more than Like. I want to be Accepted. And that’s asking for quite a bit.

Oh, great. Now I’m upset. I’ve thought too much about it for tonight. All of you, all you people who are indifferent toward my existence, Screw You.

Just kidding. I didn’t mean that. Not that last part, anyway. I still want you to like me. I want to be a part of your group. Let me in.