It's amazing how life finds a way of picking itself up after all the pieces seemed to have been scattered all over the place. And everything is back to normal, I guess, if you consider college life normal. Except that I've been smoking cigarettes more often that I ever had, and, frankly, it makes me sick to even think about it, the smell, the taste, but there's something to be said about standing there a hour, waiting for your class to start, bored as hell, no girls to talk to, and lighting up. It feels like you're, I dunno, doing something productive, even though productive in this case means shaving a couple of years off your life and making you smell really, really bad. Then again, after what happened with dark Kelly, I feel as if nothing could kill me.
Classes are, as usual, tough and unrelenting.
I'm glad I decided to start this journal, just to get everything together. I promised myself it wouldn't be like any of the other journals I've had in the past, where I would whine an awful lot about which girls I liked and did they like me. Things are stagnant. I mean, all he does is wear turtle necks and drinks Latte's. I fully expect him to one day don a monocle and smoke one of those cigarettes on a stick or whatever and speak with a faux French accent.