We talked a lot about our various trials and tribulations in middle school, what we did to get back at those who made it their life�s work to torture us, how he just took the crap while I battled it head on. I�ve never been one to let others get away with slagging me. I�ve always had a stronger sense of self-worth than to let myself get antagonized without doing something about it. Some of his stories made me feel so bad for him and I guess now I know some of the reasons why he is so hungry for approval and insecure now that he�s an adult. He even went so far as to say that knowing what he knows now, he doubts that he would even have befriended Luke in the first place, as Luke was something of a ruffian towards Andy when they were much younger. I suppose it�s good that Andy looked past that now, as he is Luke�s closest friend and they�re quite fond of one another.

I often worry about Andy and his need for approval. I am afraid that when he finally does manage to get involved in a relationship, he will be too eager to please and will end up losing himself in the process. He still gets so worked up about things that happened in the past. He said that he still feels badly about something he put in one of his classmates� yearbooks when they were going around. It was nothing mean-spirited or rude, it was just something silly and chances are that she has never even thought twice about it. To regret something that trivial so very deeply is troublesome to me. Nobody takes yearbook inscriptions seriously. I mean, my reciprocally cherished biology teacher colored in the principal�s eyes, making him look like a devil, and then wrote a bunch of gibberish after it.

Luke and I went to M&G�s to do laundry today. We hung around a bit longer than I would have liked as they are severely lacking in interesting things to do/play with, but at least I got some prime time in Luke�s lap. I nearly fell asleep, in that spot where you move beyond hearing your controlled thoughts to seeing them and having no control, but someone said something and jolted me out of it. I was pretty disappointed. C was there, but I managed to avoid him sufficiently. As long as he doesn�t speak to me and I don�t speak to him, things are okay. There�s going to be a party for his graduation/Papa�s retirement up North later this month, but as far as I know, it�s going to be mostly family and friends of the family, so I won�t have to deal with any of C�s twit acquaintances. M is planning on having another party for him so he can have his friends about and she�s renting a moon room, so more likely than not, Luke will drag me along under the guise of doing laundry so that he can take advantage of that and a bunch of free food.

M was on the phone with her sister K for close to an hour gossiping about their hometown (where the family still lives) and talking about party plans. M is apparently in charge of desserts. I was going to ask her if she wanted me to help out, but since she didn�t say anything to me about it, I figured that she didn�t really care either way. I�ll have Luke ask her next time he talks to her and I will probably make my gram�s banana split cake. You can�t go wrong with banana split cake, unless of course you eat too much of it at a birthday party and then get carsick on the way home, as I did when I was 7.

I don�t know why, but just as in the car accident I was involved in at the age of 4, I can remember what I was wearing the day I urped in the back of Dad�s little Toyota on the way to Woods Hole. It may be because I was wearing a red shirt that day and, on the day of the accident, the shirt my dad was wearing was red when he put me down. Yes, I bled all over his shirt, staining what had originally borne a silk-screened red shark on it completely red. That was the same day the put me in 5 point restraints after asking my mother to keep me from thrashing as they plunged a needle into my face and she passed out cold.

It�s amazing how some things can stick out so vividly in my memory and others, sweet, warm things can slip away as if they never happened.