For me, it's kind of hard to imagine that I have been blogging here (I don't really like using the word, but essentially, that's what I've been doing) for around two and a half years now. My first entry highlighted my procrastinative ways and my excitement from my freedom of my metal mouth and the last one basically told the story of how I ended one of my longer friendships. It's definitely a learning tool for me to see how I have evolved into this older, more cynical and bitter, yet somewhat wiser person (yeah, I'm not really a "woman" yet; I still feel like an awkard teenager, and for the next year and four months, that is still technically correct).

In the last week or so, so many things have happened: graduation, my realization of my supposed romantic endeavors (which I decided not to pursue), the two-day Freshman Orientation at Rowan University, and every time I wanted to write about it here, something stopped me. It didn't feel right to write about it here. This was, in effect, my high school chronicles (And I probably used the wrong "effect". Oh well). It felt weird writing about my college years in a place where I've been so juvenile, so young, so heartbroken. I wanted a new start for college. And one thing in order to do that was to get myself a new blog.

The URL for it is right here. I invite everyone to follow me to the new site (and, for old time's sake, I'll probably have a link to this site). So, right here and right now, I bid a fond farewell to my high school years and hope to write about happier times there.

Michelle

Is it horrible of me to be relieved of something that I did that potentially broke a boy's heart?

Yes, after seven extremely stressful years of this back-and-forth rollercoaster of displayed thickheadedness, I finally told Brandon what had to be said.

Before then, Monday went surprisingly well, albeit a few minor quips: he almost got me killed after giving the okay to switch into a lane and a truck almost hit into my side, while at the mall, he dragged me into a prom dress store (instead of the other way around), and pointed out the Kay Jewelers store, saying that he wouldn't be going in there for several years. We later went to his house where he watched me play Kingdom Hearts on his PlayStation2 in amusement and took a walk around his neighborhood, where I went into a huge rant about Harry Potter, answering questions that anyone that had read the series once would know. We returned and ordered Chinese food and ate that while he made me watch this God-awful movie, The Covenant, which he claimed was his third favorite movie of all-time.

I was bored - the plot and the dialogue was completely stupid, and became worse when subtitles randomly popped up on-screen - and spent most of the movie wacking him with a ruler. When there was about ten minutes left in the movie, my mom started to call, and I knew that it was time to go home.

Throughout the entire day, I knew that I would have to break this news to him; I knew what I had to do before he invited me over his house, and even all the way back to his birthday (especially with the revelation of his intention to ask me out again, but I couldn't do it, not yet, not on his birthday).

He would have normally just given me a hug and left it at that while I went to Lexy (this is what I'm calling the Mexican Mobile), but I made him walk me outside. Once out, I jumped and sat Indian-style on the roof of Lexy, where I watched him.

"Do you remember the day we met and what I asked you?" I asked him. I knew he would remember; the reason that memory is so vivid to me is because of him and that he would bring it up every so often to embarrass me by the audacity of my eleven-year-old self. He nodded. "Do you still?"

"Yes," he said simply. He was no longer smiling.

I then proceeded to explain to him that I just wanted to be friends, that I told him this two years ago, and that occasionally, he said hinty, we're-dating-type comments that creeped me out. I also told him about the comment that he made of his wish to kiss me if I went to his beach house last year during Spring Break (which, he apparently doesn't remember) and that I actually had a legitimate reason not to go to his senior prom. I remember that I kept saying that these last seven years were a giant rollercoaster, sometimes with my voice cracking.

He talked of asking a friend of his out and that she might go with him to Oklahoma when he moves soon. I told him that I was happy for him, for I genuinely was. I hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek - I saw that it was the least I could do, under the circumstances - and after he complained of the weather, I got into my car and started the drive home.

Despite the cracked voice earlier, I did not cry. I thought I would have - I was probably close to it - but I did not shed a single tear. I just felt relief and guilt, probably an oxymoron of itself. And I suppose if one is relieved with the outcome, they would not cry about it.

Besides explaining what happened to Anna and Hannah, repainting Balfe's room and a bit of work, Tuesday passed by almost uneventfully.

Wednesday came, and then I remembered how much it sucks to be in the other's shoes. Brandon is one of those people who posts his feelings in MySpace bulletins (and he follows by adding music videos). The heading said something along the lines of "Being in love sucks" and posted the video "She Hates Me" by Puddle of Mudd. And then I felt even more guilty because there was a very good chance that he was talking about me.

I thought thatI was doing good by letting him know before it was too late (i.e., I was about to start dating someone), like Steve couldn't do, but instead the message was Having this told at any point sucks major balls. For a small moment, I forgot last year and how shitty I felt and how I was a complete mess for about half of January, something I am now disgusted by doing.

I don't regret any of it - really, he should have gotten the message YEARS AGO - but I still feel guilty, as it always ends up. Why do I have a conscience sometimes?

I'm sure you do. Mostly everyone does at least once in his life, I'm sure of it. I was the subject of this last year, and you've probably been subject to it as well. It appears to be as part of living in this seemingly cruel and unusual world as breathing.

Did you ever get the feeling that someone you know is running into a brick wall to his own self-destruction and there is nothing - ABSOLUTELY NOTHING - you can do about it? You just have to watch him arrive at that inevitable; all you can do is try to cushion the crash and see if he can pick himself up and heal. If so, good for him. If not, good luck, to everyone. It's one of the worst selfless feelings out there, to want to save someone and know that it's impossible for you to do so.

Yes, that was an unplanned ramble. Happy Presidents' Day, everyone!