Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, none of it. Are we allowed to bid on the bits we want?
A/N: For anyone who thought that first chapter might have been Billy (ok, I did that on purpose), here's the real deal. Get on your wading boots.
Diary of the Dumpster
Observing the others engrossed in their journals has elicited in me the desire to record my own thoughts and feelings for posterity, and thus I put fingers to keyboard. At Trini's suggestion I have resisted the temptation to fully encode my journalistic endeavors, settling rather for a mere security password. She assures me that this, in conjunction with my inimitable habits of discourse, should adequately serve to confound even the most inquisitive personality. Indeed, on reflection, I concur. Who, after all, would be interested?
Perhaps I should begin my narrative at its genesis. I fear that prior to the acquisition of the extraterrestrial powers for which I now serve as host, I had become quite accustomed to others' perceptions of me as a geek, a nerd, a brain. On more than one occasion it had even proven to be effective camouflage.
My days had settled into a predictable routine: take the most circuitous route to school in order to avoid a physical confrontation with the more maladjusted types with whom I am forced to interact; tutor several less mentally gifted students in varying courses; pursue my correspondence studies at manifold universities; perhaps participate in activities of a less cerebral nature after school with my few friends.
But now, after gaining the powers of the Blue Ranger, I seem to be shedding both that image and that schedule. It only seemed wise to strengthen my body and hone the few fighting skills I possessed in order to discharge my new responsibilities with greater success and dispatch. 'A healthy mind in a healthy body' seems an admirable adage to which to aspire. Added to which, I can now take a more direct trajectory to school in the morning without fear of reprisal.
The other side benefits are something for which I had not accounted, and I confess to being both pleased and alarmed.
Just yesterday, a young lady of my slight acquaintance, with whom I share a science lab at school, requested my assistance with a project in the afternoon. I assented, and arrived at her domicile punctually at three, only to discover that she had, in fact, completed the project for which I had expected my assistance was required, and in an exceptionally timely manner. The undertaking for which she truly craved my services left me considerably wiser in the art of osculation than I had been when the day began. I departed grateful, but bemused.
My extracurricular activities and their effect on my appearance and physique have given rise to a different sort of difficulty from my distaff study partners than that to which I am accustomed. It seems the increase in muscular tone of my upper torso, combined with the contact lenses and flattering haircut Kimberly insisted I receive, have also increased my external appeal to the fairer sex exponentially.
Now if I only knew how to talk to them.