Celestial Ejaculate

I thought about using a pen name, but you know what? I'm not gonna be able to remember to use a pen name..... All other names used here are fake. This is my writing blog.... Geez, I hope this isn't a bad idea.

[celestial--ejaculate]

For the past couple of nights, there have been a few moments where my heart has started beating fast, thumping against my ribcage. I would say pounding, but I don't want that word to lose its good connotation. My heart pounds when I love. My heart thumps when something isn't right.

I have no proof that this is a thing that really happens. It never has before as far as I remember. It just started.

Sometimes, in the back of my mind, I'll be giddy because I know that there's something I have to look forward to, like presents or new clothes or seeing friends or doing something I love. There are also times when I have a nagging discontent, a feeling that something is wrong. It just nags at me all day and then I remember what it is that's bothering me and my heart sinks down to my feet.

Right now, it's like both of those feelings mixed together. My heart is pounding and aching and I don't really want to go to sleep thinking about him because it makes me giddy thinking about the way he looks at me sideways or laughs at a joke with his eyebrows scrunched together or the way that he grimaces when he thinks about something he doesn't want to think about. Then, I think of that grimace as it appeared in the school parking lot as he pulled away from me and pondered how to word that he didn't want to go out with me anymore.

I wish it didn't hurt, I really do. It's weird because it's not that apocalyptic my-world-is-crashing-down sort of hurt, nowhere near that. Still, though, it hurts. Like a cut that you get in an awkward place like in the web between your fingers or under your tongue, someplace where it's constantly rubbing against something and absolutely refuses to heal. Yeah... That is exactly what this feels like.

[celestial--ejaculate]

December 24, 2013, 11:22 P.M.

I never get nervous about showing people my drawings. Maybe because they're all doodles. But I often get nervous about showing people my writing. It could be because it's more personal, but I get the feeling that's not it. Treya gets nervous about showing people her artwork, even just the doodles. Maybe it's the fact that I think my writing is good and I want others to think so, too. What I should do is just know that my writing is good and let others learn the same. 

[celestial--ejaculate]

Vacation

The night rolls out in an expanse of darkness lit by Christmas lights. Hours left until morning, hours left to think. The incorrect time on my laptop clock makes it seem even longer. So much time to fill before bed with Tumblr and Twitter and pictures and music, TV channels I don't normally have and snack foods I don't usually eat. I lay on my back with my laptop burning on my full bladder. I can't yet bring myself to get up, though I have all the time in the world. Hours.

Time doesn't exactly drift by slowly, but it doesn't go quickly, either. It just feels like there's a lot of it. It's good for a while, then I begin to wonder how I'll fill it. Should I go on the computer? Should I watch a movie? Should I draw in my sketchbook? Should I think of things that make me think too hard and remind me to be sad? Should I shrug those off and try to sleep, but get carried away, wondering if there are ghosts in the house?

Perhaps I will do this and then realize that the house is too new to have ghosts. Then, I will move on and wonder how bad it hurts to break your leg and how would you go to the bathroom with it broken? I lay in the dark and stare at the invisible ceiling and I feel content, but there's a sadness poking at the back of my mind. Now and then, it becomes the jabbing sensation of forcing an earring through a closed up hole until I shut my eyes and make the feeling go away for a little bit longer.

Perhaps I thought that I could be the old soul I am said to be and get through this painlessly. If I know that he's right and there is nothing wrong, I can sweet talk myself out of wanting to crawl into a hole and just be alone in the quiet for a while, can't I? I know better and therefore, I am too good to be sad.

But no. No one is too good to be sad, yet no one really deserves to feel bad over something so small and irrelevant in their lives. The tiniest pebbles that cram their way between toes and under heels send pain shooting up like rockets or bombs or flames. You realize it's small and want to shrug it off, but oftentimes, it will still be there. And that's okay. It's not always easy to get over something so quickly. Problems can't be solved in a day.

Feelings can't be fixed and a cure can't be made in just a few minutes or hours or weeks and if you feel bad, it doesn't mean that you're weak. It's okay to feel. It's okay to mend over time and not expect to be fine by the weekend. Sometimes all you need is a few days away from your home and your school, just go away for a while. Lay on your back and stare at the twinkling gold of the Christmas lights on the Christmas tree, evergreen in the warm corner of the living room. Let the T.V. shed light on your face and you can hold your pee if you want to, sweetie. It's your vacation, do as you please.

-Vacation, yours truly, December 24, 2013, 11:13 P.M.

[celestial--ejaculate]

December 6, 2013

She turned to me and smiled warmly, a smoldering cigarette between her fingertips. 

"Want some cancer?" She asked. 

I was surprised by the question, but not terribly so. I had gotten used to the concept of her smoking. I was more surprised by the self control I had to shake my head. 

The smoke from his cigarette hung in the air all around us. He blew away from my face, but as the four of us were sitting in a cement cell at the base of the stairs, in hiding from the cold, the stale wisps of smoke still made their way to my nostrils. This time, I didn't mind. I was used to the smell and had become less apposed to it, as long as I wasn't the one smoking. 

For a split second, I watched the way he blew out smoke in soft tendrils that hung in space, then the way that my breath mingled with the crisp winter air, and I contemplated the bond I would create by taking a drag from his cigarette. 

But no, I shook my head. Filthy. Disgusting. The beautiful people around me filled their lungs with tar and butane and arsenic. I had given up on nagging them about it. They knew I didn't like it, but it wasn't my decision to make for them anyway. It also wasn't my place to tell him to stop.

For the others, I had some ground to give them crap every now and then, but I had only known him for three months. I didn't want to chase him off. I liked the way that he looked me in the eyes when he talked and the way he claimed to be cold and slung his arm over my shoulder, just to have me wrap my arm around his waist, even after stating that he "didn't get cold easily." 

The smell of chemicals and back patios and warm august nights of standing in parking lots polluted the air all around us. However, at the base of the stairwell, the stench of cigarettes, the cold of the steps beneath me, and the bite of winter on my fingers failed to bother me as I looked around the circle of teenagers. Contentment and familiarity flickered in their eyes, also interest as he, the newcomer, talked about his life and unfolded his story for us. He fit well with the group and I was glad. 

I fit in, too. I didn't smoke, but I had followed them out anyway, just to be with them. He had asked if I wanted to come stand in the cold with him, but I was already pulling on my coat. At first he complained upon learning that he was the only one who had cigarettes, but when the others apologized, he shook his head and gave them a reassuring smile. He handed them each an American Spirit and put the last in his mouth. 

He explained that it was his thirteenth cigarette. He always put it upside down in the box and used it last. On the thirteenth puff, he made a wish. I wondered what he wished about. I wanted to ask, but I didn't. I wondered if he knew what I would have wished for, or the fact that I already had it.

[celestial--ejaculate]

Okay these are not gonna be in order

November 27, 2013

Sooooo I went to my friend's house and did other stuff and didn't end up actually writing today, but I'll write a little bit now.

I'm procrastinating about writing about the past couple days because... Well, because the whole days were interesting and I want to write about them in their entirety and that is a LOT to write about.

This man… He is too groovy. I just want to go to his stupid town in rural MN and kidnap him and bring him to my house so we can talk about our weird dreams and bake cookies and watch Castle in the Sky… Oh, lord. Did I really just say that? Was I THAT sappy for a second?... Was I genuine?

God. Yes, I was. I meant every bit of that. What is happening to me?

The really awesome part is that we’ve been texting all day and it hasn’t been weird or awkward at all. I think I scared him a little bit by sending him a drawing of us stuffing our hands up dead cat’s buttholes (I had a dream about us going to veterinary school together, okay?), but I asked and he said he’s not easily scared. Then he told me to make sure to add lots of blood.

What a babe. He is so perfect for me.

I seriously just want to draw pictures with him and watch Hayao Miyazaki movies and make indie films with him and become famous directors… Ahhhh, I’m thinking too much. I’m just really happy.

[celestial--ejaculate]

November 15, 2013

Gerund is a good word.

A tall, lanky boy with dark hair and a brown corduroy jacket walked over to the garbage cans by the staircase leading up to the gallery, tossing a plastic cup into a trash can. Jon recognized him; this was the boy whom is daughter had been going on about for weeks. In the car, in the living room, on the way up to bed at night.

The boy looked up and his eyes met Jon's. They looked at each other for a moment and Jon couldn't tell whether or not the boy knew who he was.

Jon nodded politely and said, “How's it going?”

“Hey...” The boy said. They stood there awkwardly for a little longer before the boy turned and left the area, melting back into the crowd.

I haven't written in a while and I have a lot to write about, but it's gonna take a while. To satisfy any thirst for my delicious, heart-wrenching online literature, here's a little blurb.

[celestial--ejaculate]

October 30, 2013

I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth I need to brush my teeth.

[celestial--ejaculate]

October 3, 2013

“On October third, he asked me what day it was.” “It's October third.”

HAPPY MEAN GIRLS DAY!

Ria and I were walking down the hall, complaining about the limited characters in our essays. The sound of guitar came from the stairwell. We went inside to see Garth and Joel, sitting in the stairwell. Garth was playing a guitar. Ria looked at me and I rolled my eyes. I kept talking about the paper until I finished my sentence and Joel and Garth looked up at us. I smiled and said, “Hey, guys. What's popping?”

“Not much, how are you? How's being a wizard?” Joel asked. We wormed our way around them and I answered, “Doing well, doing well. Very wizard.”

Suddenly, Joel jumped up and said, “Oh, yesterday, I was just walking and it started raining, like down pouring. I had on a pretty nice sweater.”

“Ayeee, sweaters!” I said. He held out his fist and I fist-bumped him.

“That's awesome, dude,” I added, going down the steps, “You should've practiced using your wizard's apprentice powers to make the rain go away. Unless you like sweaters.”

“Yeah, I like sweaters.” He said, looking down at me through the bars of the railing. We both smiled and Ria and I disappeared into the hallway. We went into the Lit Loft and I sat down next to the door, opening my laptop.

“Ohh, my feelings...” I groaned.

“It's okay, I get it.” Ria said, shaking her head at me. TC opened the door and poked his head into the room, “Hey, how's it going, everybody?”

There were a couple of lukewarm 'good's and he asked people about their papers, but I wasn't listening. I could hear the guitar flowing in from the stairwell, just outside the Lit Loft. TC walked away, leaving the door propped open, and Garth and Joel walked into the hall. Garth was playing his guitar and I recognized the song.

I leaned on my elbows on the floor, appearing in the doorway, and I asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

Both of them turned around to face me, Garth still playing the guitar. He started singing and I sang with him, “Oh, love. Oh, love. Won't you rain on me to-ni-ight?”

I laughed. “I probably shouldn't be singing in the Lit Loft.”

Ria and I flopped down on the bean bag chairs and I logged into my email account. Just then, Alex came in and started talking to people. Alex is in Senior Lit and he's a total sweetheart. Ria smiled and said fondly, “He is so cute. He makes my day so much better and he doesn't even know it.”

“What, that one?” I asked, nodding in his direction.

She nodded. Alex came over and beamed at us. He stayed like that and I reached for my camera, “Do you want me to take a picture of you?”

“What? No.” Alex laughed, coming over to us. He bent down and put his hands on mine to keep me from taking my camera out of the case.

“You just pose all the time?” I teased, smiling.

“Yep.” He said. He sat down on the chair next to me. I pulled up Youtube and said, “Tanya said that I should serenade the guy I like with 'Taste You Like Yogurt.'”

“What? Is that a real song?” Ria asked.

“It is.” I answered.

“I think you should,” Alex said, leaning over my shoulder, “Who do you like?”

At that moment, Joel walked into the Lit Loft in his green jacket, carrying his books under one arm. I can't even explain to you how perfect he is.

“Oh, hey, man.” I said.

“Hey,” He said, sitting down on the bean bags with us. Ria broke out laughing, but Joel didn't seem to notice. Right then, the advertisement on my Youtube window ended and the song started playing.

“This is my life.” I said. I moved to sit next to Joel, putting my head on Ria's backpack and showing him my computer. I let the video play. It's ridiculous.

“I'm that guy.” I said, pointing to a man with dreadlocks and round glasses in the video.

“I'm the girl.” Joel said, pointing to a girl in a yellow bikini. “Why are they riding a pigeon?”

“I don't know. I hate pigeons.”

“You seem like you would like pigeons.”

“I just don't. They're grotty. I don't wanna get West Nile disease.”

“... I'm the pigeon.”

“But I don't like pigeons.”

Joel smirked. “You like me, don't you?”

“Yeah, I like you, but I don't like pigeons.”

“You should like this one because it's me.”

“... Okay.” I agreed. “But this is the only pigeon I like.”

Woooooooow, I tenfold hate typing on this stupid keyboard. My laptop’s dead, so I’m just using one of the computers in the school library. They’re such nice computers, it’s damn shame that the keyboards feel like they have peanut butter in between all of the keys. At least they’re clean.

I’m listening to Taylor Swift in attempt to stop being mad. Also because she’s bomb.com. Mostly the first thing. I’m not that mad, but I’m frustrated because I have an assload of homework and this keyboard sucks ass and I have to do a big writing project in Lit that is not going to be easy.

This fucking keyboard, I’m gonna flip shit.

I DON’T WANT TO WRITE MY URBAN GEOGRAPHY PAPER. I swear, that class is going to be the death of me. If we're screwing around, we eat cookie butter from Trader Joe's with plastic spoons and apple slices and talk about rape culture and racism and hot guys. If we’re on task, all we do in that class is reading agonizingly boring articles about the suburbs and write papers reflecting on them.

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw, do I look like Mother Teresa? I just don’t even do some assignments… Which is stupid. I should do them all.

Motherfucker, I have an above average typing speed and your busted ass is slowing me down! Get a life, keyboard.

Ugh. Did you miss angry moody writer Senya?

I literally just want to go home and sleep, but I can’t. I have two papers to write and a bibliography to put together. God dammit. *kicks trash can*

*Sigh* Well, at least I talked to Joel a lot today. He’s perfect. I seriously can’t handle it. His buddy, Garth, was in the lunch line behind me today and I was kind of keeping to myself because he had earphones in and I don’t know him that well. Then, Joel came up, caught him in a headlock, and said, “Hey, Senya, thanks for saving me a spot in line.”

“Yeah, no problem.” I laughed. He is so cute. I can’t get over it. As we went through the lunch line, Joel asked, “Wanna sit together? I’m not going outside today ‘cause it’s raining.”

“Totally. Not in the mood for a sweater today?” I think I’ve explained our dumb inside joke about people wearing sweaters made of water. It’s ridiculous how many times we’ve brought the joke up. It doesn’t make any sense, but I love it so much.

Yeah… I love the joke.

Farting when you’re listening to music is terrifying because there’s no way to tell whether it makes a noise. I pulled one of my earbuds out of my ear and let it rip slowly. The coast is clear.

This is my fucking life, guys. This is what I do.

Sometimes, when I’m writing at school, I wonder if people are reading what I’m writing over my shoulder. Maybe I should say something really hilarious and if someone laughs, I’ll know they’re reading it… Who am I kidding, everything I say is hilarious.

I’m listening to Mindless Self Indulgence again. I love them. Shut Me Up is my favorite song of theirs. The creator of Invader Zim directed the music video for it. The guy in the video is rocking a mad middle part.

I swear, my keyboard is the only one that’s this loud.

I want a fucking doughnut. Not just any doughnut, I want one with custard in it and frosting on top. I want a Glamdoll doughnut. Fuck you.

Maybe I should just start my homework now… Nah. The Lit teacher, Sheila, would notice if I had a bunch of papers out. Then again, Nick is doing his math homework next to me right now.

AhhhhhhhhhhhhgGGGGGAHFHHHHBLEHHHHHHH

Senya, what are you doing? You screwed around at Patrick Henry because you hated it, but Perpich is awesome. Respect the space.

Alrighty, I’m going to look for stuff for my Lit project. Later, readers.

Okay, I’ve got seven resources. I have an hour left before I can go home. Why does this stink so much? I love Lit.

*Gasp*... I just realized… The library is right by the media room. Do you know who’s going to come out of the media room at the same time that I come out of the library?

That’s right. Joel.

Oh, gosh. I swear, half of my existence at this school is seeking him out. Whenever I'm in any sort of hallway, I wait around and wonder if I'll run into him. It doesn’t feel quite as weird and one-sided and, um, creepy as it did before because now, he comes to find me. If he sees me, he’ll come and sit next to me. He sought me out twice today. In the Lit Loft and in the lunch line.

He’s so cool. I don’t know why I can’t just appreciate him like the fellow human being he is. I have to think about all of these weird little things about him and how every one of them is so precious.

Get Lucky by Daft Punk just came on my fucking iPod. Can you not?

49 minutes. Stop counting down, Lit is fun. But it’s not fun today. I would put this all on my blog now, but I’m scared of people from school seeing the URL and finding the blog and figuring out who everyone I write about really is… I’m sure that has already happened. It’s on the freaking internet.

Also, half of this entry is on my laptop. I’ll put ‘em together later.

I wonder what Tina is listening to. It would be interesting to take all of the people in a room or on the bus who are wearing headphones and see what kind of music they were listening to.

SHUT ME UP JUST CAME ON MY IPOD I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH.

The bass, the rock, the mic, the treble, I like my coffee black JUST LIKE MY METAL!

I just want to have an Invader Zim marathon for, like, four hours. I want to watch Psycho and The Shining and other awesome horror movies with a bunch of my buddies… Including Joel. Yeah, he’s my friend! That’s awesome. I think he likes me. At least some.

I generally like myself a lot, but I get so happy when people I like show interest in me, too. It’s such a great feeling when you like someone so much and you can tell that they appreciate you as a human being. That’s not over-assuming. It’s true.

I really really really really really really really wanna go home. My eyes are really dry. I wanna eat something. I wanna see Mama and Papa. I wanna think about Joel. I would type out his actual name, but I’m at school and it would be easy for someone to pick out his real name at a glance.

I love his name. It’s such a perfect combination of letters. I’m pretty sure I’ve talked about it before. The letters form a beautiful rush of deep purples, swirling together like paint or polymer clay being twisted together in two strong hands. U of M maroon, Mama’s Purple Mountain Majesty glaze, a rich wine, a dark, pearly purple, a small dash of olive green for that jacket he wears. A lock of brown for his perfect hair and dark, happy eyes. All mixed together to form a perfect name that sounds a million times better read out loud than in print. It’s hard to keep from saying it, even just whispering it because it rolls off your tongue and sounds like fucking bells.

Hey… My heart is doing that thing again. You know that thing where you just feel like it’s going to explode, but instead of being painful, it’s just full of warm, pale yellow sunshine, peeking out through the cracks in your heart? Illuminating the red walls and making it glow like stained glass? Shining out onto hardwood floor, worn from the bare feet and old boots caked with gray, melting snow that have tread across it?

A ripple of warmth races through your whole body and you can’t quite place what it is. It’s like an infection that doesn’t hurt you, a nausea that doesn’t make you ill. It feels like anxiety if everything about it that’s bad was taken away. Your heart pounds and your face flushes and your hands shake and your lungs fill with the crisp autumn air that tastes inexplicably fresh and you feel so good and alive and for the first time in so long, you feel human. Normal. Healthy. Yourself.

It’s as though my heart is breaking in the most beautiful way possible. Layers of soft flesh delicately peeling open and resting in layers of petals like a newly blooming flower.

I’m a master at prose and he probably doesn’t know it

In the past couple weeks, he’s turned me into a poet

Just by coming 'round, showing up here and there

And when he walks past, I just can’t help but stare

His hair, that fucking hair

Dark, smooth waves that roll up and touch his face

I want it touching mine

And damn, those eyes

They’re dark brown and beautiful and then I realized

Oh, no. So, that’s what this is?

I don’t just like this guy as a friend

It's so much more than that, I never write poetry

Now it's flowing out my fingertips like it's meant to be

Meant to be, I guess we probably aren't

I can feel this feeling bubbling up inside my heart

I heard a saying once that made me stop for a moment

Said that anyone who falls in love can be a poet.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWwMqa-_210 - Oh Love

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wygLNFdUgtw - Taste You Like Yogurt

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0AX81gv5aM - Shut Me Up

[celestial--ejaculate]

September 27, 2013

UGH! I AM SO FUCKING FRUSTRATED!!! I HAVE AN EAR INFECTION OR SOMETHING AND I TRIED TO PUT THIS EAR WAX REMOVAL SHIT IN MY EAR AND IT WOULDN'T COME OUT AND NOW I CAN'T HEAR.

Um. (cough) So, yeah. I've done everything I can think of, but nothing will fix it. So, I've temporarily lost the hearing in my right ear and it sucks loose butthole. I didn't think it would be such a problem, but it is. I can't hear how loud I'm talking, so I have to reduce my output on profanity, taboo topics, and comments about human anatomy and illegal substances, all of which make up a startlingly large percentage of my daily conversations. I am also living in fear every time I fart because I can't tell whether people can hear it or not.

Fuck my life, I am so mad.

(Sigh) Alright, other news. We have a “half-day” today, which is still a whole day for me because my parents are making me walk around to my classrooms with them.

A “half-day” basically signifies a day when all of the classes (except for our art areas, which are a little longer) are 45 minutes instead of 80, so the afternoon is open to guiding parents around the school.

12:59 PM

I left Lit with my backpack slung over my shoulder, squinting at my phone in my hand. Papa texted me four or five times with things like, “Hey,” and “Where are you?” and “We're in the cafeteria.” I wrote back, “K” and trotted down the stairs.

Everywhere I turned, the usually barren halls were full of wandering parents; women with cold eyes and lipsticked frowns and balding fathers with lost expressions on their round faces. I came through the cafeteria doors to see my parents sitting with Tanya at a table.

“Hey, did you just get out of class?” Mama asked.

“Yeah,” I said, slinging my backpack onto the chair across from Tanya, “Tanya probably got out early.”

“I thought class ended at noon.” Papa said, eyebrows knit.

I shook my head, “No, 12:25. Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Papa said, “No lunch?”

“No, I'm getting lunch.”

I left the cafeteria and circled around to the kitchen.

“The mac and cheese is better than usual.” Tanya said as she drove her plastic fork into her completely spherical scoop of mac and cheese, “It's usually less flavorful.”

“Buttering it up for the parents.” Halley said.

Halley and her dad had come to sit down with us. I like her a lot. I wish I could see her more often. I leaned around Tanya's mom and said, “Hey, Mama. Just so you know, I can't hear out of this ear.”

I pointed to my right ear and, looking puzzled, Mama asked, “Really? Since when?”

“Since this morning.”

“Huh. We should get that checked out.” Mama said. Then she grinned and added, “I don't know if I really wanna bring you to the Target clinic after the meat raffle at Dusty's.”

“No, not tonight.” I said, “Can I go to Diamonds?”

“Sure.”

“What's Diamonds?” Halley asked.

I explained, “It's a coffee shop in Northeast. You should come with us.”

“What time?”

“After school.”

Halley winced and dug around in her food with her fork. “Gah, I have work later today.”

“Ohh,” I said, scrunching up my nose, “I see. Maybe another time.”

“Yeah, I'd love to.” She said.

Tanya's mom laughed next to me, “Go to a coffee shop and drink coffee for five hours.”

“That's my whole life.” I said.

Halley got up to show her dad around. I told her that she should grab Joel and they should both come to the coffee shop. (To give you some context, I met them together on the first day of school.) “He doesn't really talk to me anymore.” She responded.

“Make him talk to you.” I said. I considered adding that forced friendship is an okay thing, but I decided that I had already let one dumb thing slip out of my mouth. First of the day, astonishingly.

Tanya walked her mom, my parents, and I through the lower Vis gallery, showing us the artwork that was hung up and explaining the themes and prompts they were given. They went off in another direction and Papa said, “You should show us The Pit.”

The Pit is where my buddies and I always eat lunch. We turned and started walking that way and I gestured forward, “This is The Pit.”

Ahead of me, Joel passed by and I waved at him. As he disappeared down the hallway, Papa said, “And that is the boy.”

“Shh!” I said, irritated.

Papa made a face and I hissed, “Don't be so loud.”

It turned out that he had barely said it, but my hearing has been off all day because of my ear. I can hardly hear out of one of them at all and I have an earache.

“You should probably get that checked out.” Tina had said in the shortened Lit period earlier.

“Yeah, I probably should. I feel alright now, but if I start bleeding and seizing, it'll be a good time to send me to the doctor.” I said this just as Sheila came in. She looked at me sideways and I explained, “I can't hear out of my right ear, but it's all good.”

She gave me a skeptical “Okay” and crossed the room to her seat.

The half day thing actually wasn't that bad. It was fun taking my parents around the school. It's funny that I didn't really realize how many people I know before now. Walking through the hallways when they were all out there, it was like, “Hey. Hi. Oh, hi. Sup. Hey.”

My neck and my ear still hurt and I'm starting to think that I might have some sort of brain virus. I'm also a famous hypochondriac.

Today is Friday, so I'm on my way to Diamonds. I think that at least Rocky, Cynthia, and most likely Al are gonna be there. Donna, Fawn, and Tanya are all stuck at home hangin' with their fam bams. That's not bad, I just don't get to see them. To be honest, I got a little scared when Anna told me she was grounded.

“I can't, dude, I'm grounded.”

“Oh my god, why?”

“Well, I'm not really, I just have to stay home and hang out with my parents.”

“Oh, good. I'm glad you didn't...”

“... What?”

“Nothing.”

[celestial--ejaculate]

September 23, 2013 Pt II

I sat down on the other side of the table, facing the Media room this time so I could see if someone was coming. I typed on my computer for a while before Joel came out again.

“Hey,” He said.

“Hey.” I took out my earbuds and pulled up the iTunes window in front of my writing document.

“Have the senior media kids come through yet?” He asked.

“I don't know. I wasn't paying attention,” I said, “The dancers were out here earlier.”

That didn't answer his question.

“Oh,” He said, “Well, it's a little too early to leave. I'll chill out here for a while.”

“Okay.” I said, smiling.

Sitting down next to me, Joel grinned and asked, “So, can I read it?”

“No.” I laughed.

“Come on, I'll show you my pictures.”

I pursed my lips and thought. It was tempting. I replied, “Alright. Go get your pictures, I'll find something else.”

Joel left for the Media room and returned shortly with a black, plastic-covered binder. He sat down and began turning the pages. Black and white, washed out photographs covered each page.

“This is my self portrait,” He explained, “I feel like a chicken that's wrapped in nails.”

He pointed to a white blob, shaping a rubber chicken cradled by nails and string.

“Woah, dude.” I said, “That's deep.”

“Yeah,” He chuckled. He flipped through the rest of the pictures fast, then he pulled a thin stack of shiny, black-and-white photographs out of the back pocket of the binder and held them out to me. “I just took these. It was at a lake.”

I carefully took the pictures, holding them by their solid white borders. I looked through them carefully. Joel spread out some darker pictures and said, “And these are from the pinpoint camera.”

“Oh, the one made from the oatmeal can?” In the first or second week of school when Nora and I were sitting outside during Lit, Joel came up to us and asked for our picture... With an oatmeal can. He then explained that it was called a pinpoint camera and it actually worked. The next day, he came up to me in the hall and told me that our picture didn't turn out because he had told us to stand too far back and underexposed it. He was disappointed because he had been looking forward to seeing it. So had I.

“Yeah, that's the one.” Joel went through and explained how he had to make negatives of all of the pinpoint pictures while I bent over the binder, nodding and taking in every word. He looked at me and asked, “Now can I see your writing?”

Sucking in air through my teeth, I reluctantly turned my laptop over to Joel. He asked conversationally, “So, what's this about? Dragons and wizards?”

I answered, “The prompt was 'an object that haunts you.'”

He read the first couple of sentences out loud, his voice full of amazement, “'A long-sleeved shirt with buttons up the front. It is made of a light fabric printed with salmon and off-white paisley swirls.' Ooh, paisley.”

“I know, it's haunting.” I said.

He continued reading, “'It is over-sized on her, but especially on me, and it hangs – untouched – on a pile of clothing in the library in my house. The shirt hung like a wilted flower on the... stationary....'”

Joel squinted at the document for a while, his lips moving silently. He eventually said, “Ah, I'm dyslexic, so this looks like alphabet soup.”

“Oh, really?” I asked.

“Yeah. It's good, though.” He said.

I felt good about my work. The way the words wove into carefully articulated sentences and formed vivid pictures. I wanted him to read on and see how good I was, but I didn't ask him to. Reading takes a lot longer than looking at pictures does.

-Senya

[celestial--ejaculate]

Is it weird to publish my deepest, most raw, completely honest thoughts on the internet for the sake of showing that my life is interesting and I'm a good writer? 

Huh.

[celestial--ejaculate]

September 23, 2013

I don't even know what to do with my life. I am having such a day. It's an alrighty day, it's not bad, I just feel like I don't know how to control my brain or my mouth or my shaking limbs. All day, I've been whimsical and trembly and out-of-focus. I haven't been able to concentrate on anything all day.

Joel's hair was precious today. It was different. It was all shaggy and messy. He said that I should brush my hair because it have a lot of knots in it. I took my hair down and started talking about how I conditioned it and he was like, “Dude, I was kidding. Your hair is fine.”

I told him and Garth that I'm a sarcastic asshole, but I can never read when other people are being sarcastic. How am I supposed to concentrate on homework tonight? I feel like if I don't sleep or wind this weird, frazzled, pent-up energy down somehow, I won't be able to get anything done.

Fuck. How do I do this?

Joel is so glorious. I sat with Libby, Maura, Tony, and this other girl from my Explicit Writing class at lunch today and then they all left and I sat with Adriana and Jane and Ria and Ashley, then I saw Joel and Garth walk into the area. I was like, “Omg. There he- there he is. O god. What do I-”

He looked all around and I waited for him to see me. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe he wouldn't. Just then, he and Garth looked at me. I beamed.

“Hey, it's you.” Joel said, setting his tripod on his shoulder. They turned and walked over to my table. “You're a cheery person to talk to.”

They pulled up chairs and I scooted back in mine to give them space.

“This is Garth,” Joel said as he got a chair from another table.

We looked at each other; Garth has bleach-blonde, spiky hair and I swear he wears a different Green Day shirt every single day. He has a long face, pale skin, and close-together, light brown eyes. On the first day of school, I took note of his MCR jacket and his Chucks designed with the Dookie album cover.

I told him, “I've heard your name a lot, but I don't think I've ever actually met you.”

“Yeah, I'm Garth.” He said, holding out his hand.

I shook it. “I'm Senya.”

I'm not particularly fond of shaking hands, especially with strangers, but there are some times when I don't mind. I'm always impressed when people my age and younger shake hands when they meet someone. It's a formality I've gotten used to young people skipping.

Joel sat down next to me and I asked, “How was your weekend?”

“It was pretty chill. I hung out with this guy.” He jerked his thumb at Garth. “What'd you do?”

“I went to my friend's lake house... We ate a lot of gluten free cake and watched little kids swim. We had to watch them so they wouldn't drown.”

Okay, I almost never, ever censor my writing, but there is no way I'm putting this part on the internet. I feel like the rest is necessary to the story, but I'm omitting this paragraph right here. Just to make sure this makes sense, the part I took out is basically a thoughtful description of Joel's hair. I'm serious. 

At one point, we looked at each other and I made a face. He smiled back and I watched his thick eyebrows and his packed-together, slightly pointed teeth. He has dark, long eyelashes and two jackets that he usually wears interchangeably with some sort of t-shirt; a green and black flannel shirt and a black and gray fuzzy jacket, maybe fleece.

Huh. I wasn't even thinking about my portfolio, but I could probably use this as my first piece. I don't have to read it for anyone but Sheila. Plus, Joel was one of the subjects in my portfolio anyway.

Ahhh, Senyaaa, stop.... What is your deal? I am taking social steps, once step at a time...

“Hey, Senya,”

“What? Oh, hi!” I turned around to see Joel standing behind me. I was grateful to be listening to music so I could have an excuse to click on the iTunes window, hiding my detailed, over-observant, may I say very intellectual description of him. I took my earbuds out and he asked, “What'cha doing?”

“Just writing.”

“Is Lit out already?”

“Nah, I'm writing something for Lit.” Yeah, a fruity little journal entry about you.

“Ah, I see.” He said, nodding. He held up his tripod and said, “I have to return this badass space gun from the Batcave.”

The Batcave is a room about 30 feet from the Media room where kids can rent out cameras, tripods, and other kinds of media equipment.

I asked him, “Have you killed any aliens?”

“Yeah, tons.” I watched him walk away and noticed the pattern of black and gray squares on his jacket. The fleece one. Once he was out of sight, I clicked back to my window and kept writing.

Oh, gooooodddd. Come on, dude. What are you doing?

Nothing. I'm fine. I talk to him. It's great. I just so happened to decide to write about my crush outside of the room where he's currently in class. The ridiculous thing is that I didn't even think of that until I saw Mark come out of the Media room, holding one of the strings in his hoodie away from him. Three other Lit girls and I watched him go over to the drinking fountain and he called to us, “I dipped this in chemicals and accidentally put it in my mouth.”

I'm really tired and weirdly love-struck. I don't even know what this is. I don't get that same ridiculous nausea anymore, but if I think about him for too long, a smile just spreads across my face. On my way out of lunch today, I said, “Well, I should actually get my ass to class.”

“Yeah.” Joel said, “Get your ass to class or your ass will be grass.”

Doesn't make any sense. Still funny. I playfully smacked his shoulder with my hand as I passed and said, “See you around.”

“See ya.”

I turned the corner and felt my legs melting as I climbed the stairs to the upper Vis gallery.  

[celestial--ejaculate]

September 21, 2013

Ahh, grotty. Today is gross. I don't know why. I'm not having a good morning.

It's September and I'm still fucking writing 2012 on shit. I will never get used to this.

I'm listening to Moby and eating ice cream and feeling weird. I don't know what it is. I think the weekend jacks me up because I don't see Joel for two days and after a while, I start thinking that he hates me or that I'm really creepy or I'm a terrible person in general regardless of Joel.

I had a weird day yesterday. It was a really good day, but sometimes, I have days when I know that I should stop talking because I just keep talking in circles and saying weird shit. Yesterday was one of those days, but it was also Friday, so I went to Diamonds and talked a lot. I felt like I was being really annoying.

I gave asking Joel to hang out with us at Diamonds another stab on Thursday and he said he'd see if he could. I reminded him yesterday and he kept saying that he had to study for a test in his art area, but that was more of a momentary thing than an all-weekend thing. I don't know. I left school feeling like a creepy idiot.

It's weird how I can be so egotistical and so self-conscious at the same time. It's really annoying. I almost wish I could go back to being the narcissistic asshole I was in elementary school rather than the needy little creep I am now. Better yet, I could just be the I-don't-give-a-fuck-I'm-awesome-let's-eat-some-redvines fourteen-year-old weirdo I was in eighth grade. Then again, I was terrible at dating in eighth grade. I'm grateful to have learned some more about that since then.

Yo, if anyone's reading this, you should send me a message and tell me how to set it so that people can leave comments on my posts. Thanks, sweetie.

I keep knocking shit over. I'm clumsy, but it's not the cute kind of clumsy. It's the breaking stuff, knocking things over, accidentally-ruining-people's-lives-and-doing-really-obnoxious-things-completely-on-accident sort of clumsy.

Oh, lordy. I'm making really long hyphenated words again. Am I returning to my CWAK state of mind? CWAK is a fiction story that I started writing in seventh grade and continued for a good three years. On a blog, actually. It was the center of my universe for a while and my friends and I would add to it and talk about it all the time. At recess, on the bus, just always. It was pretty cool and it was how I got into writing, which is now what I go to arts school for. Go figure.

My name is Senya. I have pink hair and my hobbies consist of writing stories, pretending I'm a rapper, drinking too much caffeine, asking questions, whining, and doubting myself. Holy shit, that was pathetic. Let me try again.

My name is Senya. I have badass pink, green, orange, and brown hair. My friends kept telling me to get an Instagram and I wouldn't do it, then I did and it was the best decision of my life. I love people, which is more than a lot can say. I write stories. It is my passion. I love coffee and tea and Jake Gyllenhaal and Torchwood and all of the beautiful weirdos in my life. I do ask a lot of questions and it's because I want to learn things. I can be very self-doubtful and that makes me ask more questions, but I'm working on being more sure of myself. I like life. I like the sun. I like Redvines. I like ice cream. I like hip-hop from the 90's. I like most non-country music. I have long fingers and very long, very tangled hair. Die Antwoord is a big part of my life. I go to the same coffee shop every friday to hang out with my wonderful friends who go to different schools. I tip well. Feel free to message me. I don't bite hard.

There. That is a much better bio.

I also swear constantly, but there is usually a reason why I swear. I try not to do it senselessly. I do it excessively, but I usually have a reason in mind.

I have an enormous crush on a boy at school and sometimes I feel creepy, but I think it's going okay. He sits by me at lunch sometimes and we talk about hilarious things and it's great. We have inside jokes and, god forbid, I think he might even like me back.

Have a good weekend, my dear readers. Have you learned more about me upon reading this entry?

Goodnight, listeners... Goodnight.

-Senya

[celestial--ejaculate]

September 20, 2013 Pt II

Could it be? Yes, it could. Something's coming, something good. If I can wait... Something's coming, I don't know what it is, but it is gonna be greaaaaat... With a click, with a shock. Now please let go of my cock. I'm trying to run...

I do this kind of shit a lot

Don't stick it in my gumbo pot

I talked to a cute boy today

It seems like I always say

The weirdest shit

It's legit

I've started, I ain't gonna quit

Gumbo pots and sweaters

In pink bubble letters

Strung across the starry sky

I can't write fantasy, why, oh, why?

So... We're supposed to be writing about a mystical, nonexistent object in Lit and I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I make weird shit up all the time. I am a fiction writer, but for some reason, I can't write fantasy to save my life.

I could always write about Extendy Nips... Oh, god.

The Lit kids know I'm weird. I don't think they know I'm that weird. Maybe they do, but out of context...

“Here's my story about extendable nipples that you attach to your own.”

“What's the point of them?”

“They're both fashionable and functional! You can do all kinds of shit with 'em!”

Now that I think about it, I don't really know the proper use of Extendy Nips. I'm not sure if I was at school the day they were birthed out of our sick, twisted minds.

Exactly! I have a sick, twisted mind! Why can't I do this?

Sheila just complimented my entire soul. We had our one-on-one meeting in Lit where I showed her my portfolio. Her words made my heart swell. She complimented the phrases I had picked out from my writing that struck her just the way they struck me. I was flattered and ecstatic and proud.

I generally know that I'm a good writer, but it feels so damn good to hear someone else say it, to know that your words affected them. To know that you made someone proud to be your teacher. It feels like a rush of cold water on a hot summer day. It feels like my heart fluttering in my chest as Joel looks at me from under his brow.

Speaking of Joel.

“Is there ever a name that just isn't the same in print as when you say it out loud? It just rolls off your tongue? The combination of letters just sounds like fucking bells?” Sheila laughed as she read the line. “That is great.” She said, “Very real.”

Very real. Exactly. Ex-fucking-actly. She gets it.

“Is this about a boy?” Sheila asked.

“Yep.” I said. I could already feel myself getting red in the face. It happens so quickly nowadays. “I actually wrote about him for a good, say, hour during the marathon.”

Hour and a half, but whatever.

Sheila looked amused, but not in a taunting way. In an endeared way. She smiled and asked, “Is he someone I know?”

“Maybe.” I said. I didn't know if she knew him or not.

“Is it...?” She gestured through the wall to the next room where everyone else was hunched over notebooks and laptops, writing.

“No, no...” I laughed, “No, it's not anyone in there.”

“Alrighty, then I'll stop asking.” We spoke softly as to not be overheard by the others. Both doors were open so that Sheila could hear if they started “getting chatty,” but we kept our voices low.

I didn't realize how much praise for my writing meant to me until it poured out of my Lit teacher's mouth and into the cracks in my soul. Her words filled up wounds I had thought were healed. Like I said, I always knew that I was a good writer, but other people agree with me?

Sheila was impressed by my attention to detail. “'She smells like weed and unwashed hair...'” She read, “That's really good detail.”

“Thank you,” I said, “When I'm writing about things in real life, I try to pay attention to what was going through my head at the time because I tend to notice really weird little things.”

“Exactly! That's perfect!” Sheila cried.

I was grinning from ear-to-ear. I got it, she got it.

I wish that I didn't come off as so uncomfortable, though, because I'm so not. I think I'm better in class when I'm with everyone, but when I'm just talking to Sheila, I think that I seem more soft-spoken than I really am. Soft-spoken, maybe a little awkward, but not shy. No, not shy. I have nothing to hide from her. Really, I'm realizing, I feel like I could write about anything and show it to Sheila. Maybe I'm getting too comfortable too fast, but the reason why she got so mad at us yesterday is because she wants Lit to be a safe space and that concept was being threatened.

Yesterday in the Lit Loft, after Nora came down and I was talking to her and Lani, I said, “Maybe Sheila was being a little harsh, but I get it. She wants us to trust each other and open up our hearts and as soon as someone did that, it was used against them. I know you didn't mean it, but... Remember when Sheila got so upset about the tissue box with all of the stuff about Tony (her son) on it and she said that she's a protective mother bear? Maybe that's just what happened today. She was protecting us.”

Today, when we were all talking about it, Sheila said, “Like I said, I am a protective mother bear. I was just taking care of one of the pack... Bears don't have packs.”

It warmed my heart to hear her say that. 

-Senya

[celestial--ejaculate]

September 20, 2013

Sungjong is a pale lily flower. And a delicate lotus. Bahaha.

We should really stop calling Dennis "Dark Sungjong." Tanya and I started secretly referring to him that way in the first week of school because he looks like a k-pop star named Sungjong, only Dennis's skin is darker. Sungjong, being the Korean princess he is, is very pale.

For once, I wasn't the one to come up with the politically incorrect nickname for one of our classmates. Mind you, I nicknamed the Rat Boy of The Adventures of Rat Boy and Renji kid, a comic book Tanya and I jokingly planned in elementary school. I brought it up today in sociology while we talked about our mean nicknames for people:

Me: Rat Boy and Renji Kid.

Tanya: Oh, god.

Me: Big Fat Bacon, dude!

Tanya: We are terrible people.

Me: I know, we're going to hell... At least all of our friends will be there. We can chill out with Allison.

Tanya: Big Fat Bacon...

Me: Chill out, dude, she deserved it. She was a cuntnugget.

I have Something's Coming from West Side Story stuck in my head, savory turkey dinner.* I love that movie, but fuck a magician, that song gets stuck in my head all the time. For so long. I once had it stuck in my head for the entirety of a six-hour shift at work. I was wiping down tables and mumbling, "Come on something, come on in, don't be shy, be a guy, pull up a chair..."

The aiiiiir is hummiiiing...and something greaaat is comiiiing.... Oh, who am I kidding, I love that song.

Musicals are great. West Side Story always makes me so happy.

I lost one of my earrings. I have six earrings in my earrings and only two out of those six actually have metal spheres closing the gaps in the rings because it's really hard to put them in. One of my earrings fell out during Exploding in Writing and I felt it fall, but I couldn't find it. I hope it wasn't one of the purple ones.

I have trouble eating in the morning. I'm just never in the mood to eat when I wake up, so I'll eat a little, go to school, eat some lunch at 12:20, then go home and have a big dinner that night. The lunches are usually pretty bland with the occasional tasty pulled pork sandwich, so most days, I just eat salad or fruit.

But right now at this moment, we have a half hour until lunch and I could eat a fucking horse.

*Fawn makes up all of these ridiculous phrases to say in the place of (or in addition to) swear words. Once when she got on the bus, she tripped and shouted, "SAVORY turkey dinner!"

[celestial--ejaculate]

September 19, 2013

God, what a shitty day. A bunch of dumb crap went down in Lit and Shannon, our teacher, got really mad. I don't mean regular mad, I mean apoplectic. She was furious. She yelled at us and moved the due date for our writing portfolios from Tuesday to tomorrow. Fuck my life.

Some of us left the room; Lani and I went to the Lit Loft to work on our projects and pretty soon, Nora came in, crying. We all talked about what had happened. I said that Shannon was probably frustrated because she wants us to feel safe in Lit and trust each other. It's just kind of hard because trust and respect are things that have to be earned and in Lit, they basically threw fourteen people in a room and expected us to have complete trust in and respect for each other immediately. That's not a bad thing, it's just a little unrealistic.

Let me tell you that I already love everyone in Lit. I already feel pretty close to them, but still, we've all only known each other for four weeks. I think we've done pretty damn well up to this point.

I wonder if anyone actually reads this blog. Maybe. It doesn't really matter. I'm kind of just talking.

I still like Joel so much. He's perfect. Yesterday, we had a little conversation. Danny came by and took my sweater off my chair as he passed, swinging it over his shoulder. Laughing, I said, “No,” and got up to go after him, turning and coming face-to-face with Joel. I stared at him. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey.” He said. Behind him, Danny tossed my sweater onto my chair and slipped away down the hall. I looked at Joel and said, “Olivia and I ran down the hallway in sweaters and now I'm really hot.”

He raised his eyebrows and said, “Sweaters are hot.”

“Yeah.”

“Unless you're outside.”

“In the snow.”

There was a pause.

“Unless your sweater is made of snow.” Joel widened his eyes when he said this. God, what a babe.

I grinned and said, “But what if it's made of hot snow?”

“Then it would just be water.” He said, “If you ever come to school after it rains and you're all soaking wet, I'll say, 'Hey, I like your sweater.'”

After that, we parted ways and I turned to see Ria and Jenna, standing at the mouth of the hallway, giving me that universal I-just-saw-you-talking-to-your-crush look. You know what I'm talking about. I shook my head and joined them to walk to class.

Anyway, it rained like hell today. The entire sky filled with dark, swirling clouds and it poured. Eventually, the rain slowed to a beautiful, light drizzle. I have a video of Ria and Jenna running around while Adriana just shakes her head at them. I ran into Joel after lunch and he said, “I like your sweater.”

-Senya

[celestial--ejaculate]

September 17, 2013

A girl opened the bathroom door, regarded the short line, and said. “Crap.”

She came inside and stood next to me. For some reason, I felt it necessary to start a conversation.

“It's all about timing,” I said, “Sometimes, there's no one in here.”

I chuckled awkwardly. I knew I was talking too much, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. I was so tired, I was almost delusional. As one door opened, I took my turn and wandered into the stall. It would've been a pain in the ass to roll the sleeves of my leather jacket up all the way. I tugged at them half-heartedly, situated myself, and sat down.

My mind flew back to camping trips and port-a-potties; soft fabric against my skin, a merciless chill seeping through layers of clothing. Bra, t-shirt, hoodie, jacket. Still cold.

Wow, I was, like, falling asleep when I first wrote that. I was SO tired. I'm still tired, but not as bad as I was earlier. I felt like I was gonna die.

I snuck a short conversation with Joel and two other guys I have Urban Geo with into my morning. They were talking about something, I realized I could contribute to the conversation and just inserted myself into their little circle.

Don't force conversation with him. I had told myself, but if I don't pursue people, how can I ever get to know anyone? I don't know if playing hard to get works, but it sounds like the dumbest shit I've ever heard of, which is why I've never tried it. Just don't rush into anything, that's all. Don't wait for him after class. Don't keep track of where he's going to be during the day. Find something else to do at school other than trying to track him down and talk to him. It's okay. He's still gonna be here.

“When choosing things to put in your portfolio, pick things that make your stomach hurt.”

My Lit teacher was referring to writing pieces, but I was thinking about other things. Lots of things make my stomach hurt. Bad food, the smell of dog shit, people. Mostly people.

When I came into the Lit room, Nora was pissed because Joel and another guy from Media named Garth photoshopped her face all over the Last Supper painting.

“Why are you so mad about it?” I asked her, automatically glancing across the room and making eye contact with Sage. She knew who he was and she knew that I liked him.

“Because, one of them was my butt!” Nora huffed, an exasperated look on her pretty face.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Was it your bare ass?”

“YES!” Nora cried, “And they showed it to everyone!”

As Nora turned away, I broke into silent laughter, keeling over on the table. Catching sight of this, Sage laughed at my immaturity. We both laughed our asses off. Then, I tried to gather myself.

"That's not funny." I said unconvincingly, "Fucking Joel."

"Do we not like Jules?" Noah asked from down the table.

Nora rolled her eyes. "It's Joel, and no. He's so annoying."

I don't even care. I can like Joel if I want to. If he took a picture of Nora's butt, that's her problem. Kay said she doesn't like him staring at her boobs. Okay, whatever. I don't care. But after Kay told a few more stories about Joel staring at her and “being creepy” in their art class, I started to get nervous and worried and confused. How should I take this? What was I supposed to think? Maybe I should stop pursuing him...

Joel walked by us at the lunch table and, ashamed and conflicted and embarrassed, I ignored him. His eyes traveled over the table as he passed. They stayed there until he disappeared into the media room. Something fluttered inside of me when I noticed his attention on us. I quietly stirred my mac and cheese on my tray and listened to people talk; feminism had come up again, which is an important subject to me, but I wasn't in the mood for another political discussion. I had had enough for one day about how incredibly rude it is to stare at girls. I proceeded to talk about skinny jeans with Danny.

A little later, Joel came out of the media room, his mirrored aviator sunglasses on his head. A smile broke out on my face as he walked up to our table. He stood at the corner, between Olivia and I, in silence for a moment.

“Do you ever wear those?” He asked, reaching out and not quite touching the sunglasses tucked into the collar of my shirt.

“Yeah,” I said cheerfully.

We talked about stuff, I can't even remember what, but as we did, I realized that I don't give a shit if other people say he's annoying or creepy. I'm not intimidated. He's been nothing but nice and interesting around me.

We'll see how this goes.

-Senya