Summer has been great so far. I've done a whole lot of nothing, which is just what the doctor ordered, and I've been taking my medicine, which is just what the psychiatrist ordered. I'm finally sleeping 6-8 hours a night, and I have some hope for the future of my life. It's fantastic. Also, Jonathan Elvidden-Meyer Applebottom, Esquire and I got into a small fight and haven't talked in three weeks. This should be a bad thing, but all the annoyances that came with our friendship being alleviated might actually have been worth it. Now, you might say, "Doesn't this leave you with zero friends in your town?" Yes, you'd be right, if it weren't for what happened on Sunday. I was at church, and by random chance, ran in to Jumping Flaming Grandore-Tamaguchi, the Amazing Human Cannonball at church. He and I were best friends from the time I was five until I was eleven, and were still good friends for two years after that. Since I've known him, I think we've only had one fight. We had just drifted apart the past three years. We chatted briefly, and then I called him up last night and we talked for a little while. It was almost as if we had never stopped talking. I had forgotten what it was like to have a freindship with someone who doesn't annoy the heck out of you constantly by saying you can't be friends because you like different things, or "boo-hoo, you corrected me" or by actively trying to piss you off for their amusement. We have plans to meet today or tomorrow and catch up on the past few years. Eventually I hope to work back up to best friends, and of course get him hopelessly obsessed with Buffy. So, maybe things will work themselves out. I'm hoping the summer continues pleasantly, and now that I have my medicine, perhaps next school year I can be the A and B student that I used to be.

Appearances

A lush green lawn

A painted fence

A tall trimmed hedge

What perfect pretense

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Expensive clothing

The latest in stylle

Perfected hair

A glowing smile

-

With a perfect shell

Who would assume

Distress could be there

Within the room?

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Our rusted metal

We've plated with gold

What's weak inside

Appears so bold

-

Why do we feel

This painful need

To constantly mask

The lives we lead?

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We think they're perfect

The others we see

But they disguise too

Their lives' debris

-

Striving for a standard

That doesn't truly exist

But others seem perfect

So the appearances persist

-

If less time were spent

On a perfected shell

On the inside there'd be

More time to dwell

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But for now, at least

We work to appear

And all play along

But inside shed a tear

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A world where everything

Seems so good

But underneath all

No one's understood

Buffy, gee, what a weird name

Could her parents have been insane?

They must have smoked weed

To name her that, Indeed!

Let's say that society's to blame