Anything else I write, say, or think is a tangent from my true, very real, very teenage girl problem. I got the number of this pretty cute guy. He looks like a young Christian Slater with longer hair and a septum ring. He’s older than me by 4 and a half years but lord knows I don’t care. Thing is- I don’t know if he will? ****, he’s so handsome, I could faint. I’m not used to seeing men that give me butterflies in person. I’m a loser. I wish my stomach was flatter and my nose is too big and pointy and I wish I was shorter, more compact, easier to hold. I feel like a year and a universe away from anything good and soft sometimes. I wanna text the guy, really I do. He seemed more nervous than me!!! But was it the shock of having a girl thinking you’re cute, or the shock horror of a blobby baby asking you red faced and stuttering for your digits. Hayden said I looked fine and Hayden has a pretty honed eye for weird behavior, even the slightest of social missteps. She said he was blushing, standing close. I didn’t see his lip twitch in disgust, no micro expressions but shock. The smile was real. And AAH- see!!! This is It!!! I’m nerdy. I’m weird. I can’t be perfect. I don’t talk like most people, I use too many big words and I refuse to say “lit” and I can’t get that raspy inflection in my voice, that nonchalant, the cute not-too-high-not-too-low pitch. I sound like a kitten. A little kitten with a bow around her soft neck but also Steve Buschemi. My hair is long and messy and I look like a baby lion but in a weird way. I’m weird. God I’m weird. I write to myself and sing to myself and I cry while watching Criminal Minds. I like obscure music and clowns and ghost stories. I hug too much. I’ll touch your arm when I laugh, which, by the way, is too loud. I’m too loud. I’m not soft and quiet and mysterious like the pretty girls. I love myself sometimes!!! But if I think he’s cute, I’m a pile of pudding!!!! Why can’t I be smooth and flirty like Abby with her pretty nose and perfect waist??? She says I’m pretty, I’m so funny, so kind and warm, but ugh!!! I’m a mess. I dress weird. I love crop tops in theory and in practice I’ll hide my belly behind my sweater. If I date someone I have to touch his hair. I wanna lay my head on someone’s chest again, hear their heart beat, and not worry about any alterior motives they may have. I wanna stare into a new, pretty pair of eyes. I’m going to college. I’m taking on work like I never have before, but I’m more confident in it than ever. Does confidence in one thing to such a degree make me a psychopath??? A daily thought. It disappears when I cry when seeing a flock of turkeys, thinking of how I love such silly animals.

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll text him tomorrow.