Okay... Yes. I did just admit that I enjoyed spending time with Ryan. No. I am not on any drugs, I am not drunk, and I have not been brain washed or hypnotized.
Don't worry, I'm just as confused as anyone else would be.
After the surprisingly good pancakes for breakfast, I went upstairs to retrieve my diary. I'm not sure why, but I had a sudden urge to write in it.
I keep the red, leather-bound booklet on the underside of my pillow case. This particular pillow is positioned along the wall, covering up the one-inch gap between my bed and my wall. I cannot stand that gap. I've hated it since I was four. It was after a very horrifying nightmare in which yellow eyes peered up at me and watched me during the nights that this hatred developed. I also can't sleep with my door open. I just can not do it.
I was almost asleep one night when I realized that my door was cracked open and I almost screamed. That's how bad my fear of sleeping with an open door is. Yeah. I think I have an overly active imagination. Heck, one of my more recent night mares could be turned into a billion dollar horror film. It could have squashed Stephen Kings like a bug. I won't go into the details, though, because this was never the topic I had wanted to get into. So, I'm just going to leave it at the dream was really, really, terribly, horribly, mind-numbingly terrifying.
Anyway, after retrieving the red diary, I went downstairs, found a pencil, and flopped onto the couch, beginning to write about what's happened. I started with the events of yesterday, starting on the bus, to Wal-Mart, to Friendly's, and finally to my place. Then, I went on to today and told about the pancakes, and maybe even a little about Ryan. Okay, maybe a lot about Ryan.
I still, well... No. I don't exactly hate him, but I still haven't forgotten... So, how do I feel about Ryan, now? I keep asking this question to myself, until, finally, I come up with something...
I don't hate Ryan. But I don't like him, either. I still think he is a:
Moron, idiot, insane, retard, immature, ungrateful (sometimes), nuts (or maybe bananas), selfish, stupid, bipolar, freak.
But I also think he's :
Funny--in a very weird sort of disconnected way, genuine, sincere, unique... and, that's about as far as my kind words for him go. Or, that's all I can think of as of this very moment, off the top of my head. I'm sure, after a month or two of non stop thinking about it, I could come up with some more. But for now, this will have to do.
Ryan strolls into my living room, saying "What are you doing?"
I finish writing the last sentence in a paragraph, look up at him, and hold up the diary as if that explains everything. Of course, with Ryan, it only confuses him more.
"I'm writing in my diary," I say exasperated, rolling my eyes at him.
"Why?" he asks. Apparently, as most guys will not, Ryan does not understand the concept of keeping a journal. He does not understand that, for most girls including myself, this is a way to write out our thoughts, analyze and deconstruct them making them easier to understand, and also for just reflecting and looking back at the past. Of course, this is mainly a girl's thing, so of course Ryan wouldn't understand. Though, you would think that he should be able to... it's not that hard of a concept to learn and understand.
"Because I want to," I tell him, deciding not to go into the details of just why girls keep diaries and journals and whatnot. It would only hurt his head, and there's no point in filling up his mind with useless facts and information about the female teenager's mind.
"Oh. Well, wouldn't you rather do something today?" he asks. "I mean, it's not like we have to go to school or anything, and we don't have to ask our parents' permission 'cause they aren't here right now to boss us around or anything."
"What would we do. We can't go shopping or anything, because we need A.) money to spend, and B.) people to work the cashier registers and whatnot. And we can't go to a theme park, because we need people to operate the rides. We can't do much of anything right now," I say, hoping to hinder any crazy schemes building up inside Ryan's strange and slightly dysfunctional mind.
"Well, I was thinking along the lines of a picnic, or maybe a walk or something. I will go crazy if I don't get out of this house and do something," Ryan curbs my original hypothesis and I have to admit that he does make a little bit of sense.
I have just thought of a great comeback, when Ryan interrupts me, saying "Don't you dare say that I'm already there, because believe me, you will regret it." It's as if he had read my mind.
"How exactly do you plan on making me regret it. The only way I can think of is by causing physical pain, and I doubt you would do that to me," I tell him coolly.
Ryan's lips curve into an unexpected smirk, and before I know what's happened, he has me pinned underneath him on the couch. We are both wrestling for the red diary that has somehow flown from my hand to behind the couch. Neither of this realize this for a moment. The next thing I know, the couch has flipped over, and the back of it is now kissing the floor. My diary is just a foot behind me, and when Ryan is distracted, I snatch it up and put it in the back of my pants. He won't dare try to touch it now. I snicker in relief, knowing that for now, my diary is safe from the prying and curious eyes of Ryan.