In conclusion, I run away from everything.

I'm not dead. I'm sitting around waiting for something to happen that isn't the hormone-drunk rambling of a teenage loner who isn't pregnant, because even that would be a turn up for the book right about now.

I don't do much. I wake up, walk to school, trip through lessons, sit through free periods, go home, shower, do homework, read blogs, go to bed. Wash, rinse, repeat. Five days a week.

I've got nothing to say, or do, or write. I come home tired and aching and drained and go through the motions.

It's not that I don't have tons of ideas. I want to write about things like why I can't make eye contact with people, or why I act like a steroid-fueled fucknut at every chance I get, but every time I sit down to type stuff up something else comes up.

And also I feel like I'm dragging on every one's mood and pace n' shit. People have stuff going on in their lives that make them happy or sad or angry but they blog about it and it's exciting to read and you can dwell on it later, or people are happy but have nothing going on in their lives, but you can still tell they're happy and that's good.

I'm neither happy nor living a shiny happy life right now, and I feel like I'm disappointing everyone, even though 'everyone' is a pretty small number (FYI I love you all, you smart, sexual people).

So I'm pulling out (that's what he said?) until I can get my butt in gear and pull myself together a bit.

And then I'll be back, baby. Possibly with cookies.

If.

Today I went to the park with Rach and Cleo.

It was nice. We stayed there for a while, Cleo was playing and it wasn't too cold for once.

We started to walk back home next to the river. We stopped at a traffic light and we waited... And we waited...

Then a very nice looking boy comes along, stops at the traffic light and waits.

And then?

He smiled at me.

Me!!

It was a nice smile.

The light turned green and we all crossed the road. I looked around to see that he wasn't near us. He was going the other way.

Gah!!!

A tiny part of me wanted to follow him - to see who he was and why he smiled at me. But I didn't.

I spent the next couple of hours complaining about it, going on three simultaneous chocolate binges and thinking about it before giving up on thinking altogether.

But now I'm kicking myself.

If I had followed him, or said hello to him, what would have happened then?

If I kicked the habit of being shy right there and then, would he have been friends or something?

Well, would we?

I, for one, don't know.

But I still want to know.

If I stopped being such a lame, shy, socially inept person, who would I be? Better or worse.

Ugh.

---

And this, dear reader, is further proof of how St. V's day fugs with my head.

Things I did on QuirkySingle Day

(Valentine's Day can get fugged)

Not much romantic about Valentine's Day really is there?

Oh? You don't agree?

Hmm...

Ah, yes, I see why. I haven't told you how I spend Valentine's Day.

1. Wake up too late, probably ill from something consumed the night before.

2. Lie in bed and contemplate the positives of being single.

3. Give up quickly and read a book, probably a romance where Everybody Dies Alone.

4. Have all-out pig-out in the kitchen. Raid all cupboards. Leave no scone unturned.

5. Feel sorry for self for having eaten too much.

6. Recieve present from my mum.

7. Think of different ways to lie about how I recieved it.

8. Stay up too late on MSN talking to other bored singletons.

9. vow to get a boyfriend so this ritual is never repeated (this won't happen).

10. Go to bed congratulating myself for having survived another year of spinsterhood.

[11. Try to block out the sound of my neighbours.]

---

Today was a little bit different. I forgot me for the day. I cleaned out my grandma's house and broke all the ice in the garden. I went to pick up Rach and we ate ice cream and watched a fantabulous film called August Rush. We ate a tri-lingual meal (Italian, Indian and Chinese food all on a plate is NOT advised) and she went on MSN whilst I did some homework (the goddamn laptop's internet refused to work on the one night a year that I have a real reason to complain about life). I went to bed and dreamed about Rob Pattinson. I woke up when Rach's phone made a bid for freedom and landed on her head.

I stopped thinking about me.

And it made me happy on what is - for me - the single most depressing and belittling day of the year.

And so I guess this is a good thing.