I'mma be a hermit!
June 08, 2003, 3:23 p.m.

My toe is killin' me. My poor big toe. Heath stepped on it while I was dancin' at the band banquet last night and it started to bleed. It wasn't until I began slipping on my own blood that I noticed how bad it was.

"Oh my God, I'm bleeding!"

"What?" Heath looks down. "Oh God, I'm so sorry!" He runs to a table and grabs one of the cloth napkins.

"What are you doing? Don't use that!"

"It'll be ok." He bent down and tried to apply it to my foot. I yanked it away.

"Don't use that! It's a freakin' cloth! Where's the bathroom?"

"I dunno." We turn to Drew, who was dancing next to us.

"Drew, where's the bathroom?"

"Allison hurt her foot."

"You bastard! You stepped on my foot!"

"You should know not to dance behind me!"

"Oh my God!"

Drew started snickering.

"What the Hell is so funny?" I stared him down. "Whatever. Where's the bathroom?" He led me out to the bathroom, and then followed me inside. Keriane, who followed to keep me company, pointed out that he was inside the bathroom and I shoved him out.

After cleaning myself up I headed back to the banquet and continued dancing. But the headache, which I had all day, was seriously getting to me, sending waves of nausea through me, so I sat down. A few minutes later the guys noticed that I wasn't dancing, so they came and messed around at the table while I sat there massaging my temples. That's pretty much how it went for the rest of the night.

When I got home, Drew and I talked via internet. Rather, I was doing all the talking. He was occupied with a girl from his middle school. He sent me that conversation of them via e-mail. T'was truly very sexual. Kinda pissed me off.

So now I know the kind of girl he likes -- a perverted sluttish chick that knows how to turn him on. And, let me tell you, that's not me. I admit, I'm not as much of a prude as I used to be (though no one has seemed to notice), but there's only a certain extent I will go to. I refuse to look like a slut. Now, I'm not saying the girl is a slut 'cause I don't know her, but that's just what she came off as last night.

After reading the conversation, I took a look at myself. Ask anyone and they'll tell you I'm a flirt, but not one will call me slutty and mean it. And all of them will tell you that I like Drew. Hell, my own mother-- the one who's constantly trying to convince me to ask him out-- would tell you that. He would even tell you that. Which, come to think of it, is probably why he sent me the conversation.

Whatever. If he wants me to be that way, too damn bad. I'm not changing for him-- I'm not changing for nobody. If he doesn't want me, too bad. It's his loss, right? Right? Please say right.

Aw, who am I kidding? I'm stuck. Boys suck. Suddenly the hermit life looks much more probable.

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