We are so awkward. We are hours and hours of it. He gets a phone call, it's very quick, and then he says, "That was Jenny. She's just worried about me because I'm out with a girl." I wanted to know what that meant so much that I didn't say a word about it. Somehow at the end of the night (the night was too long) he was standing in the street and I kept saying, "go home, just go home," and he looked at me like he didn't know what had happened. Maybe he didn't, but neither did I. At moments like that the proper thing to do is so unclear, but usually right afterward it's easier to tell. I still can't tell, and my head won't stop thinking about it. I want to take it back. Now there are too many days to think about it, because I won't see him again until Monday. Even when people are close they're far away. On Monday I'll be better to him. On Monday I won't confuse him while he's standing in the street.

Otherwise, everyone suddenly wants me to do a thousand things, but Francis got to me first and that's really the weirdest one. I need four more Saturdays, all in a row. I need to not be mean to people just because Falton makes it fun. I need to stop hearing my own voice singing in my head, but we listened to that song so many times. Today, right now, is a bit of a mess, but by tomorrow at this time it should be better. House was in an induced coma. I'd like one, just to get me to Sunday morning, but my reasons are not as good as House's. I am too tired for this. Why isn't there some grass here for me to lie in?