October 28, 2004
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Supposed to be writing my Journalism term paper, but already spent half the day fooling around. It's really no prob, since I'm pretty smart, work better under pressure, and usually finish everything during an all-nighter. Still, I always get a bad case of the "should's." Must be Mom's influence; she's so careful. So I was hiding out in the toasty library reading room, flipping through mags and fantasizing (my fav scene is innocently reading with a butterfly buzzing away, nonchalently getting off right in front of everybody, and peeps looking around the circle of easy chairs for that pesky mosquito!), when there's this hard peck on my shoulder.
"Hey, Twat," a familiar voice whispers affectionately, making me practically jump out of my seat.
It's Chelle! And eerily psychic, too. I hardly ever run into her on campus. We took advantage of the moment to take a nice walk downtown, just to talk, window shop, check out the Halloween displays, kick through the Fall leaves. On the way back to the house, we hit the fraternity. Chelles just had to liven the fire with Bruce, just in case of a cold front. Feeling strange without my man, getting that three's-a-crowd feeling, and deserving of the gong at piano (gotta baby grand there), I wandered next door to see if Cowboy Jake were in. I don't know what the fuck got into me. I actually wandered up to his room, off-limits to the ladies, where his total geek of a roommate was busy doing spreadsheets on his deluxe hand-built comp. He politely ignored me, thank god, so I could memorize every pic on Jake's bulletin board. There was his truck. There was his horse. His brother or something. And there was some plump blonde, girl from home, Suzie-Q type (Brucie: "You're the Suze, Tina." Me: "Not!") he must be going out with now. After ten minutes, the housekeeper came up and flushed me out. Oh, well, sour grapes. Jakes is only another "should"; why pursue him when Brett's the best?
