Feeling: Like I just dodged a potentially *very* uncomfortable situation.
Listening to: screw listening, I'm absorbing the beauty of Tom Welling (I mean, Smallville season premiere). Ahhh, lovely.
Reading/Watching: Regina, by Clare Darcy

I don't know why I feel pressure to write every day.

It's not like something interesting happens every day. Yesterday, for instance, I flopped down on a couch in work study to wait for my turn at the computer, and fell asleep for three and a half hours. (Someone needed a nap.) Mike was nice to me and shut the door to leave me in peace.

Today I finished my art class and am now free of the 200-year-old demon woman who puts way too much significance on a six-week night class. (What kind of significance, you ask? Three papers, two tests and a final exam, and a required trip to the museum across town where I got to pay full admission. This was a six-week-long class, people.)

Last night when I was talking with a friend (let's call him Falstaff), something in his demeanor seemed a little more determinedly flirty than usual (he is a constant flirt. But sometimes there seems to be an edge to it that's not just kidding).

Which made me nervous. And we had The Talk. I asked the question which is guaranteed to give any male sweaty palms: "Be brutally honest; how do you feel about me?"

Thank God he said we were just friends. I did not want that to become messy. Poor guy, I refused to explain why I was asking, and I bet he was terrified that I was about to confess my undying love for him or something.

Nobody wants that. At least not anyone in my neck of the woods.

There. That is all the entry I can manage to eke out. (Hee, I used the word eke. Next on my list is nihilistic.)

Comments? 2 so far...
Not a Diaryland member? Sign the Guestbook.