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05.29.02 - 10:54 p.m. Tried to make rice. Well, before that, not enough time of my own, too many new experiences, ill fitting khakis, too much salad, another african american suitor, one familiar and disappointing experience, one long ride on a motorcycle, one under the table toss to the midas mechanic, one awkward too-long date with the downstairs neighbor, more lusting after al pacino, and now, the smell of burnt potato chips. Oh God...and besides all that self absorption, a new neice, Mary Margaret (God Bless the Catholics) and she'll be called Molly which is what my parents were going to name me but decided against. Well, and then if i was to be a boy, Maxwell, thats weird. I think the alliteration threw my accountant father off. So Molly and Max. God, could anything be cuter? Today we took a test on names. Managers names and sous chefs and head chefs and corporate sponsors. Every new-monic device from bsc came flooding back and i made an A and had to read out all the right answers to uninterested soon to be fellow employees. Then the movie and the tiring job of amusing the unamusable for the 30 minutes it took to and from the theatre and then, the refusal of eye contact and shabby indoor excuses that finally convinced him our night was over. Well, then i set the chips on fire. I always set the wrong burner. Ill wait two hours for the water to boil before coming into the kitchen to find one empty glowing orange eye and one freezing cold kettle of water. It was just like the movies. I saw it in the living room window first, those jagged, jumping shadows that mean candles or fire. I melted the dial. Blistered my thumb and the inside of my wrist and my heel too, and am just now finding others. I shadow serve tomorrow. Tomorrow i get in the way and apologize. She told me to take out my cartilage piercing and i wont. I sort of dont know how, but on the other hand, i just dont want to. Its the last thing that is me. Im already dressed like a man, i look like a football player, im not pretty at all. Im angry that we have to look like men. Im missing school, and im not ready to blend in. Im tired of starting over all the time. And im not writing either. Im fixing my car and kissing all the wrong boys again and picking up film and setting things on fire and missing my friends, and brushing my teeth and applying mascara and sleeping in and not doing all the things i mean to. Tim is outside on his motorcycle, so loud. Im tired. Brandon kept asking me how i could be tired. How can someone be so absent. � 
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