April 29, 2001
Blather
Today has been hazy. And not only because it's Sunday. I woke up at about nine o'clock and my whole body ached. My throat was really sore, too. I got up and did the dishes like a good daughter, then crawled back into bed. I didn't get up until Mom and Dad came home at one. And I wasn't sleeping all that time, I was turning over and over in my bed and feeling like I was going to die. I hate being sick.
I feel better now. I took three times the recommended dose of Ibuprofen and now my body just kind of feels like it's not there as opposed to achy.
But yesterday, ah, yesterday. Kels and I walked two and a half miles to Shawnee park merely to harass Mallory. We waved at all the park patrons and distracted Mal from doing her work.
Ryan came and rescued us from the walk back home, and then he figured out how to resize pictures on my scanner in five minutes. My dad and I have been cursing the blasted thing since we bought it...two months ago. I told Ryan I hated him and proceeded to smack him. I was motivated out of love, of course.
Ryan, Kels, and I watched the latter half of Airheads and then she had to go home. I tried (I swear I did) to kick Ryan out of my house then, because God only knows the kind of trouble I'd get in if my parents found out he was here, I don't even want to think about it, the threat of their finding out lingers yet on the horizon...
Predictably, he didn't leave. I had a raging headache, so he carries me to my bed and lays me down in it. The fact that he also laid down in it is irrelvant, right...? Now, we don't need to have the sex talk again, do we children? We know Jill better than that. Fill in some innocent details, you perverts.
He left twenty minutes later and I laid in my bed willing my headache away. It would not go. So later that night I went over his house and we watched Star Trek: Insurrection and What Lies Beneath. And I have to say, What Lies Beneath is a scary flick. And Ryan is absolutely adorable when we are watching scary movies. While I sit there and shiver and gasp (and scream when he purposely scares me, that bastard), he sits behind me and murmurs "Jesus Christ. This is giving me the willies." I love a man who isn't afraid to admit he is afraid.
At any rate, this entry isn't going anywhere. I'll write again when I have something interesting to say that I don't have to censure. Ha.
astera at later than eight