I go home in two days. I won't see my father again- he's going to Mexico February fifth, I've been told, and while parts of me don't care that much because I'm gone anyway, I'm scared for him.

And a particular sketchy twenty-five year old wants to take me out again. We were going to last night but it required too much careful manuevering to make sure my mom didn't cut off his head and I simply cannot afford to be caught lying anymore. I don't want to come home for Spring Break and I want to room with friends next year. Besides that, it makes me nervous. I want to stay in touch with him- I need that sort of person in my life, regardless of how callous and conniving that sounds. I need someone like that to remind me of a world beyond this and of what all I can do one day. Less with the sketchy, more with the mad success. So maybe we'll go Monday, but probably not because sheer logistics present a problem.

All I really want is to sleep and wake up and have it be Wednesday morning.

Parts of me are scared to be this excited and eager and, dare I say it, in love with this boy. Other parts of me couldn't care less and are willing to throw myself head over feet. The scared aspect is less being actually frightened and more just sort of marveling that I feel like this and feel like he deserves it. Maybe he does. We've come a long way from April and even longer from August. It's January now, almost February. Wow. And at the same time, wow for it being so short. A few months is hardly anything. And why do I feel so compelled to disregard things and try and put qualifiers immediately? If I want to be earnest, I should be.

*rueful sigh*