it's almost that time of year.

In a very short time I am going to start Secret Santa shopping. Next week we get Secret Santas in journalism, and I already have my LJ Secret Santa to start shopping for--I've been broke lately, and now I have the beginnings of some money. And when I start selling mark next week, I will have more. Muahahaha. World domination, baby.

The only unfortunate thing about having money and spending it on holiday stuff is that when I REALLY want something I have to put it off. For example, I wanted to buy the Hall and Oates greatest hits CD (been wanting to buy that since August, but my dad is convinced whe have some of their stuff on record and wants to convert it to CD... that's another piece of technology he ain't payin' for...), but I have to do my SS stuff, then start shopping for my family. I love giving. [g]

I can't believe I've had my Snoopy/Charlie Brown dancing shirt for a year. Gotta love Torrid.

and I still feel like I'm in freshman year...

The Boy was not in French today, and I found myself wondering what the reason was for his absense. Does he have the flu? Family dispute? Doctor's appointment? Elopement? I know he's just the sophomore who I've been clandestinely crushing on, but I worry. Because, behind his geeky!hotness, he's a nice, normal guy. (screw it, Candice--he's not a nice, normal guy; if he was, you would not be wondering if he caught the flu. Shut it.)

I go on the occasional burst where I go back and start re-reading my old journals. They're in a storage box right between my bed and my nightstand, and sometimes, when I'm feeling melancholy, bored, or nostalgic, I go and pull out the journals and read and remember. I always talk about how I miss middle school so much, and all that, and when I was reading through one of my sixth grade journals a few days ago, I realized why I have this connection to sixth through eighth grade: it's because I can remember exactly who I was then, and because I wrote in so many books then (seven journals from sixth through eighth grade), I have total documentation of exactly what I felt and what I liked/disliked then. I also don't get too embarrased recalling the things I did then--well, there are things that embarrass me about who I was then, but not to the point that I'd repress that memory and try to deny I was ever like that. (I'd never deny my Backstreet LURVE and the teenie behavior that came with it, but God.) I remember what it was like to be that age. I can relate to people who are that age.

I don't know exactly how to act like a seventeen year old. I don't know what people my age do at parties. I can't legally drive yet. I don't have a car. I've never kissed a boy. I feel like in some senses I am freeze-framed at thirteen. I still listen to some of the same music I did at that age (*NSYNC, Christina), I still have posters on my wall (not as many, only the storebought ones, and four of them at that), I still have copious celebrity crushes, and I'm still slightly insanely insecure. But at the same time, I feel older--I don't like the bulk of the current music; I prefer Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin. I don't have the same attitudes about some things. I'm really serious when some kids my age would be acting silly.

I... I don't know where I fit in because of this. I don't act my age. I don't exactly know how. I kind of stick out because of this and no one really understands me. And the one person who did now thinks I'm immature and pointless and doesn't give a crap about me, 'cause she's one of them. One of the teenagers who knows how to really act like one. Who knows how to be one.

I didn't mean to turn this toward Christy, but God, she's the only one who got me and now no one does--who will understand me now? Or am I just going to spend the rest of my life feeling like a misfit and not knowing how to act and be my age?

I think entirely too much. But I miss my best friend.