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I love first getting to know someone.

And I don't mean that awkward, "So, where are you from?" knoing. I mean the kind where you decide to hang out by default because there's nothing else to do, and by the time three hours have passed you've discussed religion and the passions of life and exactly what that indefinable thing is that makes you want to write.

I love poets. Indescribably. I love artists. And not the self-proclaimed ones, the moody ones who constantly talk about how no one could possibly understand them, and avoid people to silently announce how brilliant and special they must be. Because secretly, they're probably boring and self-interested as hell and they know it. Everybody with something to say is going to find a way to say it- wants a chance to say it.

For those friends of mine that I consider artists, you know I'm not talking about you, because every single one of you doesn't call yourself an artist. :) And none of you are goth-y hermits constantly moaning about how life makes you its chamber pot. I read your diaries; I know. :o�

Back to the matter at hand. Yesterday was supposed to be the last meeting of the Society of Poets. We were going to carpool out for pizza and have big silly fun. It was supposed to be the day I told Poetry Boy how I felt about him.

But nobody was there except me, a quiet, slightly interesting freshman named Richard, this whacked-out punk boy literally nicknamed Turtle, and a cutesy little blond freshman girl Sarah. We decided to pile out for some seafood, where Turtle talked nonstop about punk music, then once we were full Turtle left us to do some homework, and Sarah and Richard and I went to Barnes & Noble for some clich�ed books 'n' coffee time.

It was interesting... I thought the majority of the time we'd be quietly reading, or Sarah and Richard would be talking, since I knew neither of them well. But it turns out we'd all been quiet because Turtle's very much the attention-seeker. Once we talked gently about writing, it opened the floodgates.

I hate coffee, but made the mistake of trying an eggnog latt�, simply because I wanted to be adventurous and branch out from cocoa and cider. It wasn't ghastly, I just would never spend three dollars on it again. The conversation made up for it, anyway.

Richard is one of those people you just have to know before he makes any sense. He's got so many layers. I could spend the rest of my life sifting through them and never be bored.

And Sarah, contrary to my initial assumptions about cute blonde freshmen who complain about guys always wanting serious relationships, has much to say. She's quite a writer. We agreed on many things, and she introduced me to her favorite band, called Lady Jane Grey. She's making me a CD of their best songs on her computer. She's one of those perfect people you can't hate just because she's very cool.

We reluctantly left, and I was only anxious to get out of there because the latt� was giving me belly-wumbles, the smell of books tends to turn me into a shop-a-holic, and while Richard had his palm pilot to write on as we talked, and Sarah had her laptop, I had napkins and a pencil. Our conversation was the kind that makes you want to go home and write poetry for hours and hours.

Had one of those perfect moments where you know no matter what happens, you'll wind up okay in the end. Because when you achieve one goal, there's always another waiting, and as long as you focus solely on those instead of believing you want what you have and you have what you want, you'll always cycle from want, work, earn, want again.

I'm not going to care about losing weight anymore. I look good. I will never lose enough to become perfect until I feel perfect before it happens.

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