January 18
I'm regretting this. So, so much. I thought it'd be relatively okay to live with Charlie. He's always been sort of like a calming breath, sort of relaxing, since he, like me, feels no need to fill every single conversational void with chatter, unlike my mother sometimes tends to do.
Man, I miss her so much. Yesterday was the last time I'll see her in a while. And, no, e-mail and phone calls will not do. It's very comforting to see that immaturity in her eyes, like a child's almost. She's very comforting in and of herself. You know, when she's not off marrying minor league baseball players. Don't get me wrong, Phil's great. He takes care of my mom and makes her so happy, but it's not the most comfortable situation. Maybe it would be to someone else. Someone who wasn't used to the catastrophes some of her mother's dates have turned into. And believe me, "catastrophe" is quite the appropriate word for some of her dating misadventures. At least this one didn't end with a balding man with socks beneath his sandals staring dumbfounded at the door when my mother slams it. She's done that. Repeatedly.
I am eternally grateful to whatever force that has not brought about many dates for Charlie. Fate, you are a wonderful, wonderful thing. I've thankfully never once had to go through the responsibility talk with him, though it might be related to the fact that until now, I've only seen him once a year. But then again, it could be because he hasn't entirely gotten over my mom. And though it's kind of nice to know that he's not a pro at the dating game, it's also kind of sad to know that he still loves her.
Anyway, onto a new subject: school.
It was, as always, horrendous. I have always had a love-hate relationship with first days. On the one hand, I absolutely love new school things and meeting my teachers (call me a dork if you like, but I quite enjoy school. What a normal teenager I am). But on the other, I hate it because almost every single pair of eyes seems to find and scrutinize me until I feel like I'm under a microscope. And it's not that wonderful when you're as horribly clumsy as I am. And when I say clumsy, I mean practically unable to walk without falling flat on my face. What can I say? It's part of that suave charm thing I have going on. And, yes, that was a joke.
Another thing I hate about school: socializing. I've never been that social. To call me an introvert would be an incredible understatement. In Phoenix, I'd only made one or two friends in my entire seventeen years there. I can legitimately say that being social is about as much a skill of mine as tennis would be. And trust me, me playing tennis is no lovely thing. Were you to play with me, we'd both escape with multiple bruises, possibly broken bones. I can't hit the ball, even though it's so bright and obvious, but the ball — and racket, for that matter — can quite easily hit me.
But that wasn't quite where I was going with this. All this rambling. It makes my hand ache. No, the most prominent thought in my head is of Edward Cullen. He's just so...I don't even know. Is he intimidating? Beautiful? Horrible? Frightening? If anything, he's a combination of the four. Oh, and when I call him beautiful, I mean beautiful. Not by typical American society's standards, but by those of Donatello and Da Vinci, the masters of beautiful faces. I mean, he and his family are simply incredible. To call them beautiful is another understatement, since the word's somehow become so empty of true meaning. But his eyes are unnerving. They're black as pitch, and when they'd look at me, they were very cold. Well, when they weren't heated with pure disgust and anger. Even though I have no idea what I did to make him so mad at me... Well, what can you expect from me, especially on the first day? It must have been some of that good luck working for me. Yeah. Right.