Well, it's my mind that's wandering, really, but that doesn't have the same ring to it, does it? And my eye might wander, given time. You never know.
Today, Austin came to CKC. Dude, what. Man, I didn't really expect him to come, so when I saw him coming up, my stomach dropped. So did my jaw. He's so gorgeous, man! Wow, that sounded like one of these dubious romance novels, and it wasn't even supposed to. I could become a writer one day.
Rose walked slowly through the decrepit parking lot, the cold, black, metal music stands in her arms echoing the state of her heart. Why, she thought, with a dejected sigh, is there no love in the world? Just then, her wandering and sorrowful eye fell upon the other side of the parking lot, like an anchor on the sea, and her heart gave a tumultuous leap. She half expected an angel choir to start singing and the CKC kids to start playing in tune, for there, looking effortlessly glamorous, in his non-egotistical Narcissus-esque glory, stood Dallas. Rose gulped. Maybe there was love in the world after all.
Actually, that's quite good. I especially liked the bit about his "non-egotistical Narcissus-esque glory." I mean, Adonis is so overdone, obviously Narcissus is better. Anyway, where was I? So, Austin really came, and he brought me Starbucks! There weren't any guitar kids for him to teach, so he stayed with me while I taught some of the little girls. One plays viola, one plays violin, and one "plays" violin, but none of them are terribly preoccupied with behaving nicely. So poor Austin, besides running errands for me, had to be the court jester for these atrocious little children. He was quite patient, I must say. I don't know how he put up with it. I managed to get some good teaching done, though, since he distracted the others while I taught one, and the time really went fast with him there. I was so worried that he was going to get mad at me for exposing him to the horrors of the program, though, it was almost hard to concentrate (fortunately, I don't need my whole mind to do my job). Oh man, I'm such an awkward individual though! I couldn't stop acting like some kind of congenital dorkfish, and make myself behave normally! It was terrible. It made him act awkward, which made me feel uncomfortable, and then I got even awkwarder. Blah. And you know, the worst part is, I'm not usually awkward! I'm shy, and sometimes I get into situations where I can't bring myself to speak, but I usually don't make a fool of myself, and especially not around guys! So I don't know what's going on here. Maybe I like him. Now wouldn't that be an interesting development? I could finally relate on a personal level to all my favorite love poems, and even the ones I didn't like before would take on a special value for me! Maybe I could even write some of my own (that don't mention Call of Duty or orcs)! It would probably be quite a good thing for everyone. So do I like him? I don't know. Maybe just a little. But I digress. So, we managed to teach the little brats, and then it was over. We chatted with him in the parking lot a bit, but we finally had to leave, so we did, and that was that. I feel like I did a terrible job overall. What if hated it? What if hated me (and still does)? This is really stressful, y'all don't even know. Awhile later, he texted me and said he was sorry for being so awkward, and that he liked it, so I guess that was good. He also said he wrote me a song, but he didn't get a chance to sing it for me, because he got nervous. Apparently, my eyes were too nice. Well... I suppose even if he looked that one up on the internet, it shows initiative. What do you think? I wonder if he really did write a song for me. That would bring my tally up to two. And two poems. All by different people, of course. I hope he did write a song, and I hope he gives me a copy, for I would like to analyze the lyrics.
Ah, young love.
I finished the sequel to Cannery Row today! It's called Sweet Thursday. I feel like a fraud, because I haven't actually read Cannery Row, and here I go talking about it, but I suppose that's what happens in this sad life. Anyway, it's really cute. I never thought I'd read a happy Steinbeck novel, but it's possibly one of the most lighthearted things I've read for awhile (which, considering my reading list, isn't really saying much). Dad looked through a few pages and pronounced it "impious," but by that time, I was too far gone to stop. And I don't think it's nearly as bad as some of the things he reads on the internet. Oh, speaking of books! I finished The Brothers Karamazov yesterday, and it was so sad! I mean, I guess it ends semi-hopefully, with Alyosha imparting moral lessons to the boys and all, but I mean, Ivan's lying on his deathbed, and Dmitry's been sentenced to Siberia, and Smerdyakov (whom I didn't like, but that's the point I guess) and little Ilyusha are dead, and Katerina and Grushenka and Ilyusha's parents are possibly crazy, and, like, what are we supposed to do here? The end seemed so abrupt, too. Maybe I'm just missing it all. That could definitely be the case. I do get too caught up in books and act like a complete snob, and that's bad. People are probably pretty sick of it. Be that as it may, I started reading Thus Spake Zarathustra, and it's so interesting! Not very pious, as Dad would say, but I think it's good to read things from different points of view. And a lot of the ideas are similar to Dostoevsky's too! It's fun to draw parallels between the two. Again, though, I might be doing it all wrong, and I might look like an idiot. Francisco certainly seemed to think so. He didn't reply when I started holding forth. Ugh, I'm a pretentious jerk! I really thought it was fascinating, and I wanted to share, but somehow, no one wants to talk about these things with me. Maybe I should read up on my sports teams and terminology, do you think?
I started making a list of items I'll need to pack for college. It doesn't seem quite real, somehow. It's like when I went to Korea in eighth grade. It felt like I was just playing make-believe until I was sitting in the plane and the pilot was telling us we were on our way to Seoul. In this case, I probably won't be able to grasp it until after I settle into my schedule and classes are under way. It's just too weird! I mean, here I am, silly little Jasmine, connoisseur of art and literature and music and not much else (well, not even connoisseur, really, but "devotee" isn't enough and "expert" is too much), not possessed of overmuch emotional maturity or even the ability to talk comfortably with strangers, and I'm going off to live in a foreign land where I don't know anyone at all! What am I doing? Oh man, this is going to be such a shock when it finally sinks in, I don't even know what I'll do. Maybe I'll write a novel and become famous and rich and have to do book signings all over the country. We've already established my prowess. At least I'll have my beloved Daisy Bell to comfort me in my hour of need. Nothing can be beyond redemption as long as there's the internet, right?
I stepped on a thorn today. Now my foot hurts. It's right on my big toe, too, I mean, how unromantic can you get? If I had to have a wound, it should really be on a nice, polite, portion of my anatomy, like my arm or something. But toes just seem a trifle undignified. I hope it doesn't get infected and swell up or anything; I have enough trouble with my outfits as it is without having to go around barefoot all the time. What if I had to go to Urgent Care? I'd be there for hours and hours! I think I'd almost rather have the health problem. Speaking of health problems, I edited the abstract for Mom's paper today. She wanted me to have a look-over to see if the grammar was correct and whatnot, but I thought she wanted a proper editing job, so I took a red pencil and went right to it. Now, I might be pickier than is strictly necessary, but Mom's students are almost worse at writing than are the kids in my English classes. The poor paper was blooming with graphite (or wax, really, I suppose) when I was done, and Mom wasn't too plussed. I gather she'd helped to piece together some of the paragraphs when the students got stuck (which, judging from their apparent skill at writing, was probably often), and I'd stomped all over her work with complete callous indifference and a few cries of "awkward wording!" That can't be pleasant for anyone, oh no. I sure did have fun before I knew whose it was, though!
I'll have you know, though, Mom is a PhD, and is one of the smartest people I know. So don't y'all be thinking that I'm thinking she ain't thinking!
So there.
Man, my eye really itches. What is up with that? Maybe I have pinkeye. I hope not. It sounds so unpleasant. I'd have to take antibiotics and such. Well, I mean, that might actually be pretty interesting, but it would be a pain to take care of all the same. Now that you mention it (not that you did), I've been looking downright hideous lately! First, my bangs were too long, and wouldn't stop leaping all over my head like incontinent gazelles, so I cut them. Now they're the right length, but they make my face look round and babyish (which, admittedly, doesn't take a miracle to do). I keep trying different things with the rest of my hair, but so far, none of it seems to be working. I'm going to have to buy a wig if this keeps up. You know, why did that ever go out of fashion? Wigs were fun. People never had to have bad hair days. Of course, the upkeep couldn't have been a breeze, and I wouldn't want to wear one everywhere, but still. Maybe they went out with Marie Antoinette. Oh, or else, maybe everyone who wasn't in the Whig party got tired of having their opponents in everyone's foremost thoughts and on their heads and put a stop to the madness. Really, there should be quite a few good jokes in there. I shall have to think them up and tell them to anyone unfortunate enough to be around me.
Now, though it pains my nocturnal heart to say it, it is quite late, and I should be off to bed. Bon soir, mon amour, and I hope you dream in French much better than mine!
That's actually a cute thought, aww.
Okay, goodnight.
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