Thoughts of a Not-So Teenage Girl

I remember once that I wanted to write a book.  That was the purpose of the title of this journal.  I wanted to write a book about what it's like to be a white girl in the South.  That was two or three year ago, and now I don't really care anymore. 

I was thinking, just today actually, that I really don't understand how some people can make colour differences.  And what I was really thinking was, how can you distinguish skin colour when everyone's wearing the same clothes?  When everyone's dressed in business casual, how can you care what race they are?  When you really notice colour differences is in the style of the clothes people where.  I saw a girl at work yesterday who was wearing a shirt that had a "Ghetto Report Card" on it.  And she was at least 7 months pregnant.  And she was probably younger than me (if only by a year or so.)  And of course, she was black.  And the only time I ever notice that a black guy is a black guy, is when he's wearing baggy shorts below his boxers.  And I know that white guys do that too.  And I can't have respect for them either, especially when you explain the origins of the style, and they blantantly refuse to acknowledge it as truth.

Anyway, a vague reason and response to the debate that is also not continuing like I thought it would.  And I don't mind.  I think about my friend's response sometimes, and I can't quite figure the words to respond, so I don't.  And now I'm thinking that it's not quite worth the time.  (Don't preach to me about how we need to keep civil rights alive.  I know.  I'm just saying that I have recognized that I am not the person to lead the fight.  (Not that I ever thought I was in the first place.)  There's just sometimes you have to be the sheep.)

Now, the real reason I'm writing:

Work's been awesome.  After four months, I finally got moved up to box.  Which, isn't really a promotion.  But it's easier than concessions.  And it's the job I originally applied for. So...

My friend Jessica always asks me, "So how about the boys?"  Every time we start talking.  And for the second time, ever, in my life, there's nothing to report.  The guy I was into started datingthe girl that he's had his eye on for 4 months.  One of the other guys I don't see anymore because I'm taking the semester off from school.  (Couldn't get the tuition money together.)  And the most recent guy that I was into, hates my guts now.  I drove that into the ground.  I suppose I could have tried to nurse the relationship back to health, and I was for a minute.  But I didn't want to get my heart broken, and I said some things that probably weren't called for.

We're moving...AGAIN!  This is the... first... second... third... fourth... fifth... etc... etc... etc... I think this is the eleventh time I've moved in 18 years.  Although this is the third house I ever lived in.  Because we're moving back into the house that my sister took her first steps in, and the first house I ever remember living in.  The landlords are being jerks about it, so it won't be happening for 6 weeks.  But it will happen.  And it's good too.  We couldn't handle the rent here.  I saw it coming, (apparently no one else in my family did, though,) and so I don't mind.  And I'm excited about being in a smaller space, (especially one I'm already familiar with.)

I really haven't got much else to report, even though this is the first time I've written in 4 months.  (We FINALLY got internet in the house.)  And so I should be keeping updated regularly from now on.

Smile! : )

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