On two separate occasions I started writing and then got bored or distracted, and didn't post. Here's what resulted:

" I think maybe I'm coming to terms with the fact that this website/journalspace/whatever the hell you want to call this now is about my school life. And if I'm not in school, it's about my life as a writer. These are the things I write about. Even my poetry is littered with it. This is my life. It consumes every ounce of me. It is why I feel so empty toward the end of an extended vacation from school. The same way that dooce writes about Leta and John and her life as a mother and a wife and a perpetually constipated woman, I write about writing, creative writing classes, and art school. It is where I invest my time, so it is where my writing is invested. Maybe if I became a trapese artist I'd write about my struggle with heights, my affairs with the contortionists, or my pet elephant. But people. This is not the circus. (I'm not planning to run away and join until after graduation -- you're just going to have to wait.)"

And:

"The last two nights have been mostly full of Liz, who I hadn't seen for what must be months before last night. The phone rang, and I picked up. "Hello, is Glynnis there?" "I thought that was your number," I said."

Sorry if you found either of those interesting and are disappointed by the fact that I'm not going to continue them. Just think of all the material that you'll miss out on.

Go look in the photo section. I went to the thrift store yesterday and there are pictures up (which are nearly identical to the two other trips that I've posted from eighth grade. Funny how little we've all changed).

This is that part in the entry where I make an annoying, cryptic list of all the things I've done this weekend without bothering to go into further detail or characterization, simply because I'm lazy:

Thursday night, even though it wasn't yet the weekend, after Liz called I met her at the school around eight. Since we have dorms at ASFA, it's always open and if you're a student you can just show up and say hey and wander around. Mostly. She was there with Joseph, one of her friends that graduated with her, and Ponder, who you'll recall I gave a haircut recently. We all stood around and talked for a bit until Josh Bowers and Charlie Smith showed up, two other graduates. Josh and Liz were both in my eighth grade workshop, and graduated from the creative writing department. Joseph was in music, and Charlie was a theatre major. Before Liz graduated, four square was ASFA's unofficial sport, with the newer, bigger court called "Ultimate," and kids lining up in the courtyard during lunch. We were all about some foursquare. So all of us played foursquare at the school from 8pm-10, and I was the only one currently enrolled at ASFA. Everyone else had graduated or left for another high school.

Friday I called Liz, and we went to Moe's for dinner. We split a burrito and told each other stories about our lives -- the kinds of things we'd be writing each other letters about (or in some cases, had already done so), but I haven't been keeping up as well lately. Not since Christmas. We decided to check out the $2.50 theatre, and saw Shall We Dance for its potential unintended hilarity. Very entertaining. Afterward we played Scrabble on the floor of her new house, among a pile of boxes and the collection of CDs that had been moved in. There is something about houses that haven't been entirely moved into that cries for board games to be played. The game was 314 to 324 -- Liz won. It rained all night.

Saturday was thrifting and Sonic's and Philip's house. Everyone left to go home for dinner with their parents, and I ended up staying in and watching I, Robot, which my parents had rented. All in all a good day/night.

Tonight Shaina and I are seeing Thoroughly Modern Millie with tickets that my parents got me for Christmas. Ian and Morgan are supposed to come over this afternoon beforehand to watch this thing that I taped off TLC about "le parkour" or "freerunning."

I like when my weekends are busy and I can ramble about them. Not having the time to write out all the details somehow makes me feel less a writer. It's an escape from habit.