Uncertainty

nidificating takes too long.

I'm not sure if I'm sick or just coughing and sneezing for no reason. This is exactly why I hate August. It's cold, sneezy, and coughy. I hate it. And the sad thing is, I already have allergies, so this just makes it worse. It's Saturday, and ever since Maria left, I feel kind of lonely. Sickness isn't the worst, because being lonely beats it just by a tad bit.

I turn on the TV and begin to watch my favorite movie all over again. While waiting for the previews, I go upstairs to my room. When I walk in, I sense the familiar smell of roses and candy, and I'm guessing it's from the febreeze sprayer, or whatever else.

My curtain is printed with Japanese flower pictures, and my carpet is pink with a few flowers. So as you can tell, I do have my girly side. But it doesn't show very often, and that's how I like it.

I walk over to my jewelry box, something I haven't opened in years. I guess ever since high school began, I haven't had time to go back to the middle school phase I had four years ago.

I pick it up in my hands, and I feel it. It feels rough, not smooth, but that's how it was when I was thirteen. I open it slowly, thanking god I didn't put a lock on it. My mom always talked about the jewlry box needing a lock, and I just shook my head.

Locks are for the untrustworthy.

When I open it, I gasp at all the shiny things inside. I walk over to my gigantic bed and sit down. I put the jewelry box across from me. Inside is about ten expensive rings, that probably still fit. I see the tiny diamond rings daddy bought me years ago.

He complained about how much they were, but when he saw how happy I was, he calmed down. I regret never wearing them ever since ninth grade.

I see the very expensive bracelets and hair accessories. But one thing seems to be the cynosure in the situation: a photo.

I pull it out and hold it in my hand, carefully. It's my family and I, laughing. Me, with my blonde hair and hazel eyes, my mouth open, laughing. My brother in my mother's arms. My dad hugging me from behind. The picture must have been from when I was six or so, my brother about two.

I remember we were in Orlando, Florida. It was the best time I'd ever had with my family. I miss it, and I wish we could have more trips like that. But ever since I was in third grade, my mom decided that it was time I trained to be like her.

And I wish I could just say it right to her face.

I can never be like you.

* * *

When I go back downstairs, the movie has already started, and I shrug, considering I've seen it so many times, I haven't missed anything. I lay down, because I feel like crap, and I already know I look it.

I just want to lay down, take a nap, wake up, and watch this movie for the seventy-two thousandth time.

After like, two minutes, I figure I'm hungry. And I'm sick of eating pizza, so I decide to go get something to eat.

About two years ago, my mom bought me and red BMW, and I couldn't help but hug her for two days straight. Twenty four hours.

The dumb thing about having to go get something, is you have to drive. And I hate driving: I failed my driving test the first time.

That's basically only because I didn't study, and it wasn't my fault. Mom had taken my Napoleon Dynamite DVD away for 'ignoring' her, and I had just got it back. So as you can see, I'm distracted a lot. But you had to blame my mom for that.

I haven't driven my car for a long time, because really, I don't need it. But it's nice when you want to go to places like McDonald's or Sonic or whatever.