This post could be read as one eats a stew.

Waiting for your
call I'm sick, call I'm angry,
call I'm desperate for your voice
Listening to the song we used to sing
In the car, do you remember, butterfly?
Early summer, it's playing on repeat
Just like when we would meet

Back when I was nine, I thought the Olympics were the bombshizdizzle, just cuz. When I was thirteen, it was the grandest sporting event I'd ever seen, full of strength and precision and races decided by the gods of time. Now, at the age of seventeen, I have found a new reason to appreciate their return: the plethora of muscular, handsome, all-around freaking attractive men. I can't handle myself when the US male gymnastics team comes on, what with Jake Dalton's Twilight vampiric face and Sam Mikulak's perfect hair. And then there's the swimmers. Good heavens, please shield my eyes when the divers' clear and countable abs or the glorious lord of all attractive Olympians Ryan Lochte, with his magnetic blue eyes and his brilliant smile and his chest and arms and hair, come on the screen, or I'll be a dead, infatuated woman.

I like band, a lot.

My mother said I have to become an adult. That's not actually what she said at all, but it seems kind of implied with half the stuff my parents tell me these days. Graduation is May 30th. I would tell you how many days that is, but I am far too lazy. Let's get real.

I remembered something very dear and important (though it appears to not be very dear and important seeing as I forgot about it til now) that pertains especially and only to the month of July. I'll be making a phone call or two tomorrow... You know who you are (you probably don't); you have been warned.

And I'm tired of being all alone
And this solitary moment
Makes me want to come back home