The campus gym (I can never say the word "gym" without feeling like a douchebag. It's like hearing people order drinks "on the rocks." I know that's what it's called, but it always makes me roll my eyes) is always especially crowded on Mondays, because it may be the only day of the week on which the majority of students aren't drunk. After my five-mile run (mmm, yeahgurl), I was looking for a place to stretch, and the only available plot was in front of one of those enclosed racquetball courts with a glass wall, and I couldn't help but stare at the people inside the little compartment. It was like watching anatomically complex fish.*
Behind the wall, a girl was sitting on the floor, ignoring the net and balls and whatnot, while a boy stood, talking to her, juggling tennis balls. The boy was tall, kind of lanky, but not uncute, with floppy brown hair and a Ghostbusters t-shirt. He seemed very determined to look casual, but was clearly attempting to impress the girl with his mad skillz. The girl didn't look captivated by his performance, but she seemed comfortable, with her legs stretched out in front of her. She was skinny-but-curvy, and she was noticeably pretty-- in the somewhat emo way, even though her clothes, makeup and hair were all natural.
I'm not a total creeper-- at first, my excuse for staring was that I thought I recognized the girl. Maybe we had a class together? But as I sat there, studying the two of them, I realized my interest was sort of weirdly intense. Why did I care so much? What was so remarkable about these two strangers?
And then I realized. I don't know them, but I know Pudge Halter and Alaska Young!
For those of you who haven't read John Green's Looking For Alaska, I apologize for leaving you out. To make a long and very pointless story shorter: today, I saw some strangers who resembled the main characters of a good book. It was cool.
MOVING RIGHT ALONG.
Not much has happened since I last wrote, but I did have a bit of a shocking epiphany the other day, as I was having my hair done in a fancy salon (thanks, Mom!) by a girl who is my age. She's my age, and she has her Real Job. I'm my age, and I'm picking up change by broadcasting my life to the internet, all while pursuing a career that relies mostly on luck. One from which I could easily never profit. One that makes people put their heads in ovens.**
I'm not asking for reassurance or anything; I'm fairly confident that, someday, I'll be able to make the whole writing thing work out. It's just sort of daunting. I'm no longer that sassy, obnoxious kid correcting her third grade teacher's punctuation. My proud declarations of, "I'm going to be an AUTHOR when I grow up!" have officially gone from stirring reactions like, "Dream big, little girl!" to, now, receiving quizzical looks and comments like, "I see. And what's your REAL JOB going to be?" Sigh. That's a good question, metaphorical adult woman with concern for my future! We'll see!
In other news, I had a very good Valentine's Day. I proudly wore the adorable and thoughtful present that I received earlier this month (as brilliant and attentive as he is, my boyfriend hasn't quite gotten the hang of surprises yet), and pretty flowers were delivered to my door this afternoon! I feel sort of guilty for being one of those gushy Relationship People now, especially because I've been in the shoes of the Lonely and Angry People in previous years, so just know this: if you're resenting the fact that your significant other didn't do anything special yesterday, I've been there before. If you hung out with friends all day, carried on with your everyday life, or sat alone with a book and Ben & Jerry's, I've been there before, too. If you want to punch me in the face, go for it. But, if you're one of the lovely, kind commenters who actually ENJOY hearing me gush, thank you! I have a good man, and I'm happy. :)
Anyway, it's 12:53 AM. PJ's sleeping over, so I'm sitting in the dark, blogging as a shadowy figure, while a cuter, gayer shadowy figure types a cuter, gayer blog next to me. I think it's time to sleep. Have a good night, everyone!
Chipotle burritos this year: 5
Nail color: "Symphony in Gold," OPI
Miles run today: 5
*Jess was in my tenth grade Biology class, so, needless to say, I didn't exactly learn anything. I have little to no idea what "anatomically complex" means, nor whether fish have... simple... anatomy. Basically, I wanted to use a polysyllabic phrase that was vaguely scientific to make me sound well-rounded. If, instead, I sound like a douchebag, you have my permission to make fun of me all you want.
**Sylvia Plath. F'realzies.