14/08/2002 - 3:46 a.m.

Now yesterday's gone.

It's about four in the morning. I had fifteen hours of sleep last night and now I can't go to sleep at all. This is nice and healthy for me right? And as long as it's so nice and healthy, I may as well be doing something useful with my time like doing my laundry or cleaning my room or reading those books I'll have to read during the school year if I don't do it ahead of schedule, right? Yes, but instead I've caught up with all my diaries to discover that, basically, life goes on as before. It's great the life I've worked out for myself, isn't it?

Roosevelt's doing Fiddler on the Roof this coming fall. My brother got in to Wind in the Willows at The Playhouse, he's Toad. I would like to see both shows, but I also don't much want to have to come back.

A week ago, I desperately wanted both to leave camp and also not to go home. At the moment, I want neither to go to college, nor to return to high school, nor to simply stay home. I have no idea what I want to do; the words "get away" are echoing just as loudly in my head as last August when I worked out how much it would cost me to go to school in England.

People ask me if I'm ready for school. Yes and no. Yes because I know what my expectations are, and no because I know they're probably all wrong.

I bought bright blue socks with pink flamingos on them today. This week feels like it needs a flamingo day. All I need are 100 lawn flamingos. Pity. I suppose I will be forced to wear my socks instead.

Yesterday I caught myself pondering the helpfulness of a calendar. How I hate myself for such thoughts. What do I need such a thing for? I do not write things down, I remember them.

I have absolutely no reason to be frightened of the future. I have no reason to be frightened of next week, or next month, or next year. I need only to welcome them; who knows what they hold? It certainly can't be all bad.