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Thursday Dear diary, I don't even remember the last time I wrote in you. Neither do you. Maybe it was last week. I'm fine. Busy. Internet not working at home. Hanging out with brown-eyed boy. It's cold out - maybe I'll put my storm windows on my bedroom windows this weekend. Got hit by a car riding to work this week. Made me mad, hurt my feelings - bitch didn't even stop. I call her a 'bitch', which doesn't make me feel any better. I'd never been hit in my life, then I moved here and two years later I've been hit twice. Third time's a charm, I suppose, so I've decided to start wearing my helmet when I ride. Other things - running, radio, all these boys suddenly getting my number, wanting to do things with me. They send me text messages full of 'r' and 'u' and '2' and I don't write back. For one thing, I'm not impressed. For another, I don't have a text plan. For another, I've been hanging out with that brown-eyed boy and kind of can't think of anything else. We're hanging out tonight - what do you think I've spent the morning daydreaming about?
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