Sitting at my computer, alone on a Friday night, eating chocolate kisses, looking at the rose I sent myself ... The image of pathetic-osity.

I want to call the boy. Why did I tell him I was busy tonight? He asked me to come with him and his friends to this after-school snowball fight/party at some park near his house ... why didn't I goddamn go?

Because I'm a pussy. Because I'm convinced his friends think I'm weird. Because I'm an socially-impaired dufus who couldn't grab an opportunity if it flew into my outstretched arms.

The card on my rose says "Happy Valentine's Day! To Myself! Love, Cam"

Eh.

I didn't even get to talk to him after school. Which means I won't even get to know what he thought of me sending him a rose. Which means the only time we'll get to talk is Monday morning, when everyone will have forgotten all about it and if I bring it up, it'll just be pathetic.

Despite all of this, this Valentine's day is so much better than last years ... I like being all flirty with the boy, having his arm around me, holding his hand in the hallway ... I'm thismuch away from having an actual immature highschool relationship. That's what I wanted, right?

Right?

Because do I really want to be the girl whose life story is the storyline to Never Been Kissed? All these movies about teenagers who are scared to go to college as virgins, it's stupid. The first time I ever got asked to dance was last summer. Wait, no, I asked HIM, and it was just this kid from summer camp.

Damn. I want to call the boy. I'll probably just call my sister though.