Comfort and Parental Nagging
June 21, 2001 (and that last one is 20, not 10) 11:10 p.m.

Ah, I have discovered the most comfortable clothing known to man. I bought a tank top at fashion bug the other day. This thing is fabulous. It has a built-in bra. I was always leery of those, but this is nice. It has the added support of knowing that your breasts aren't just hanging out there all mishapen, but it's comfy because you don't have annoying straps. I'm also wearing PJ pants with little monkeys all over them, very mature. (Hey-- and do you wanna know just how mature I am? I saw Shrek tonight, and I LOVED it (-: so there!)

Now I sit here, in the same chair where I spend an hour or so a day, sucking on freeze pops (orange ones are great!) and I feel...odd. I'm not content. I'm not even actually "happy," but I would describe it more as aesthetically pleased. My house is all peaceful and nice. I love my house at night when people are sleeping. I only wish it were larger, so I didn't spend so much time being afraid I would wake them up. Or better yet, that they would just go away once in a while and leave me here to enjoy it on my own. I suppose I will have my chance this summer. They will be up at camp for a few days without me, no doubt. I refuse to take time off from work to spend a few days with them. It wouldn't be a vacation.

I have a lot to look forward to. On a large scale, there is college. Going slightly smaller, there is a summer. This is only the beginning! I looooove summer. I never used to. I hated the heat etc etc, but not it's just all so beautiful! But if I look at tonight, there are more specific things. Tomorrow I get to spend 3 hours alone in my car with just my music. aaaaah, how wonderful! Then, I get to chill at camp, and around my favorite little town with my darling cousin (Look! I mentioned you again! Are you reading this?) Plus, Linda is supposed to be working on her newsletter tonight. I look forward to reading what she has to say.

and, to change the subject: I wonder, do people ever forget the things that their parents nagged them about? Even now, at age 17, despite being fully capable of opening my own freeze pops, I still hear my mother's words in my head telling me to wipe off her scissors afterwards, so that they don't get sticky. I encounter similar things like this very often. I'd call it conscience, but this isn't a right-or-wrong situation, this is nagging. But then again, I guess having respect for my mother and her scissors is the right thing to do, so who knows?

Aight, 'ts it.