I've been peeking into halation's chap book; wanting to read and not wanting to read because I'm making myself write The Zine soon and I do not want to be influenced, etc., as her writing is extraordinarily eloquent and vivacious and I want my own things to bloom first and I don't want to get into the rhythm of her writing and then write my own words to said same rhythm. I limit how I grow. Little fences.
Today was good until the argument with my sister. She went to sleep happy-sounding and not talking to me and I feel guilty being hopeful and excited and trying-to-feel-okay-about-my-body.
The Boy reminds me of how I am doing all of these things to set myself up as a not-a-child now and I cannot get set off by spats. Everything will be okay. He got me the number for the French restaurant in case I couldn't remember it. I read it off to him over the telephone and he may still have it written on his hand but probably not.
I like my life.