Eternal confusion.

I have been making lots
of pie charts lately by tracing the bottom of my water bottle and then charting things out. I like looking at my perfect circles; mostly because it makes me feel like I have control over something.

I am so confused by everything. I am confused at what I did wrong and why she seems to be so bothered by me lately. I am confused at why my body seems to hate me and what on earth the point of logarithms even is. I am confused at why I can't use "I," "Me," and "My" in an academic research paper. I am confused at why my mother won't let me wear Kaitlyn's t-shirt every day for the rest of my life. I am confused at why I have to shave my legs or sleep or speak French in French class. I am confused at why I can't seem to make up my own mind.

One thing, however, is for sure: When he changed keys, I knew I was in love.

Trigonometry.

All my love,

Addy

And I was like, "Oh."

And then I kissed someone.

La, la.

All my love,

Addy

General tardiness.

Yesterday, I was late for fourth period because I was listening to a really great song and the very best part of the song was about to happen. I waited outside the door for a bit so that I didn't miss it.

I felt like that was a good reason, no?

And then I had red-ish/chestnut colored hair.

All my love,

Addy

It's rainy, but I don't mind.

I liked this weekend past.

There is an eyelash in my eye.

All my love,

Addy

So does everyone.

I had my first snowcone of the season last night. It was a some sort of cherry something with extra syrup and ice cream.

I like summer, but so does everyone. Why wouldn't you?

He used to be fat.

All my love,

Addy

It's pronounced "ahn-gst."

Occasionally, I get a bit angst-y (see last post). Then again, so does everyone. I think I've worn myself quite thin, though, with my moping and sighing and all of my major, major anxiety. Alas.

However, you need not worry for me (I know you are terribly concerned with my well-being, of course) because I have taken up a new look on life. I think I've always been quite the optimist, but I am also somewhere in my teenage years and, true to stereotypes, I get angst.

My thoughts are this: "He not busy being born, is busy dying." (That's what Bob Dylan taught me.)

I will kiss cute boys, simply because they're cute. Simply because I can.

I will wear old sweaters that Wilson gives me, because I am young and it doesn't matter.

I will dance in public.

I will read entire novels in single afternoons.

I will go to birthday parties on week days, and get in flour fights.

I will wave goodbye to my blonde tresses. In fact, I made an appointment to do just that. Because I am young and I only live once, you know.

How do we feel about this color?

Because that's what I'm doing, I think.

Don't mind me. I'm only a skeleton, after all.

All my love,

Addy

It's complicated.

I'd prefer it if my dreamcatcher would catch all of my dreams now; I'm growing steadily more exhausted upon waking up and realizing everything is much more complicated than I dreamt it was.

Do figure yourself out and let me know once you have done so.

Lumos.

All my love,

Addy.

P.S. See the smart girls picture? It nearly killed me to put it up 'cause it's punctuated all wrong. It should go like this: "So dumb guys go for dumb girls, and smart guys go for dumb girls. What do the smart girls get?"

That will be all.