the following is not a test

i got an interesting drunk text on saturday from zack. i haven't heard from him in a few weeks, and it's been about 6 weeks since we talked about anything other than getting my shit back from him. but, at 2:30 am, i got a "heyyy super-slut :-)" i'm sure i wasn't supposed to take offense at his chosen pet name, but since i spent a good 30 minutes going down on him the first time we made out, and then never saw him again, it hit a little close to home. mother fucker. i must admit that i did a little dance in my head at being the target of his drunk texting. he still thinks of me? 

i am trying to decide if i should go on my trip to mexico next weekend. four days of beachy bio-fun with people who get as excited about tidepools and wetlands as i do is a welcome treat, but dying does not seem like so much fun. i'm not worried about it myself...maybe i should be, but i can't find it in me. we have been reassured by CEDO that their facilities are safe, and rocky point has had no trouble lately. and we are not going through the dangerous border towns. but i'm worried about my grandma worrying. she's pretty upset about letting me go to mexico, as is my roommate. 

also, i have been writing. this long lost love of mine has not been allowed to rear itself for 4 or so years. I have always loved writing, and had been doing it since I was a toddler. I wrote my first book when I was 5, called "Kittns" and I was absolutely certain that I would grow up to be an author. But it frustrated me. My problem wasn't a lack of ideas or an uncertainty on how to get them into words. I did so almost effortlessly. My problem was that my ideas turned into the perfect words at the least perfect moments. While I was laying in bed trying to sleep. While I was in class. The words formed themselves into perfect dialogues and so quickly that if someone were to tap into my head, it would sound like I was reading a book. And the results would be so perfect to me, that when I sat down later with a notebook and tried to recreate them they would disappoint me, because the first time was so much better. If I didn't immediately capture what I had just created in my head, it was lost. And that was unbelievably frustrating, since I couldn't very well put off sleep for 3 hours while I wrote, or bust out my fatty notebook in the middle of a biology lab. I can't schedule my writing. It comes to me when it comes to me, and I wasn't OK with that. So I got frustrated and stopped, never finishing anything. I found boxes full of loose leaf and unfilled notebooks at my grandma's house, of 5 or ten page story bits. All written in 8th grade or high school, and, if I do say so myself, remarkably good for someone so young. But nothing finished. Besides "Kittns," I have never finished a story. 

But now, technology and my shitty sleep schedule seem to be working for me. My laptop is always by my bed while I try to sleep, and when I'm awake I'm rarely not in front of my computer. Whenever I get an idea, I immediately open my computer and type away into the early hours of the morning. Or when I'm driving, I flip open my Gphone and text away into my  Notebook application. And the result is quite a bit of story development, more than I've ever managed before. However, I have noticed a pretty decent decline in my writing...talent? Maybe since it's been 4 years since I've written an essay that's not scientific in nature, or at least that long since I've done any sort of creative writing or dialogue. So I don't expect this to turn out amazing, and I doubt it will ever be shown to anybody.  But its a nice hobby, and something to keep my brain busy during this complete lapse of productivity I'm facing in life.