It's a fucking beautiful day. I had lunch with Laura at her house. I got her a salad and bread and cheese from the deli. I want to go to the beach today, but I don't have a car. I'm stuck in the house at the moment. I'm thinking about just sitting in the sun with my book. Only my book is in the fucking car that I don't have right now. FUCK! Maybe I'll start another book. Grrr. This is boring. I'll get to the important (HA!) stuff right now.

Boys suck. That's all I have to say. I'm thinking about Erich and ***. Erich isn't going to happen. I'll keep trying one more time. *** may happen, although I can't really be sure about him. I wish I was better at this. I'm really bad at it, and I need more practice so I don't make an ass out of myself. I just feel awful (oh yeah, I realized I spelled awful wrong for years too, as well as weird) using anyone for practice. Especially right now, when I actually like the guys I want to date. I'm not going to practice on them; I actually want them. That doesn't make any sense at all, oh well. My self-analysis fails miserably at times. At most times. Fatalism makes anything that comes more pleasant than my expectations. It's nice to just expect the worst, and then if it's not 100% bad, it's a relief. Dostoevsky had it right. I am hopefully seeing *** this weekend, and I'm scared. I doubt I'll get up the confidence to tell him how I feel, but that's my goal anyway. I'm better at accomplishing things if I set strict goals for myself. If I make a promise to myself I generally keep it. I'm not elevating this to promise level yet, but maybe by Friday or Saturday I will. Ahhh, nihilism, fatalism, all the fucking -isms. What apt descriptions. But completely useless too.

It's a sunny day, so I'm going outside to read without my shirt on and hope I get a tan so that I'm not quite as pasty as usual. We'll see. I love strangers. I love that they stay strangers. People suck when I get to know them.