Change of hosts!

(Admittedly, this was due to some peer pressure)

New Link

Barr just IMed me about the winter formal- a ghastly proposition, that.

Every time the music slows at a dance I am pitted with the half of my mind that ridicules me for my shyness, and I have an argument:

"So, not dancing with someone, eh?"
"Nope."
"Feeling bad about it?"
"Nope."
"You know, you haven't really slow danced with anybody before."
"That's not true. Once subbie year with Zoe (but that was just out of pity on her part, so it doesn't count), and during summer camp last year."
"Why don't I know about that?"
"Because you're on the wrong half of the brain."

That's pretty much it. I confront my guilt, and dispose of it. When I'm around people like Jerry, I just don't feel like doing much but talking, maybe dancing like an idiot. But that's for our own twisted amusement. I'm surprisingly less uptight away from Uni: at camp I was dancing freely even to bad music. Simply because it felt good, and nobody was around to have perverted convos with (also, it may have been because I wanted to dance with these people, and at Uni nobody interests me). But Uni dances- I probably feel uncomfortable dancing with these kinds of people. I dunno.

I'm tired.

I've long regarded blogs as a form of expression: the kind that people can read whenever they please and the kind that usually has little consequence. I suppose I think they're of small consequence because I rarely delve deeper than what's currently on the surface of my mind, nor do I care to make myself look like a biased dork with a hairy back and small penis. That's why the posts I try to make look serious are short-winded. I'm uncomfortable revealing my inner workings and letting people read into them like a bad novel. I try to think that this doesn't really hamper my blog's content or popularity (in fact, it probably does- but don't tell Dan). But when I look at Jerry's gargantuan posts, where he ponders probation and his feminine failures (akin to the alliteration?), I can't help but say, "Golly gee whiz, if I talked about my life, maybe I could have really long posts!" But if I did, people would be probing me about the things I posted, and when you get to the bottom of it, most of my complaints about life are very brief, and very trite. So I won't bother. You, Savage Reader, are going to have to deal with my taciturn posts.

I'm trying to put off my English essay for as long as possible, so this post might not be consistent. Nevertheless, I'll try to prolong it.

About 5 months left of school. I've been keeping my speculation low, but every once in a while I realize that we have one and a half years left of high school- soon enough, most of us will be scattered like dust in the wind. I handful of us will remain at the U of I, I'm sure, but the majority of us will be out of state. For most of the class, I really couldn't care less if I saw any of them again. But our group- the Posse, as we now affectionately call ourselves- there will be no more whacky schemes, no more LARKs, no more sleepovers. I think, many years from now, we'll be eager to forget that we ever acted like this, and pretend that high school was just a load of good-natured fun. That strikes me as dissapointing. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.

I dunno what I can say. Maybe I'll just start working.