Dear Diary, Well, I survived the storm. We lost four trees in our yard, were without power for five days, and had to stay in a motel Tuesday and Wednesday night. But other than that, we did pretty well, I think. As for myself, well - the damage done has yet to be estimated. I'll tell you one thing, though: I'm not exactly in the best of spirits today. I don't mean to be ungrateful that I'm safe and in my own home again, but there's this secret part of me that just isn't happy. I mean, really, really not happy. And that's wrong on my part, I know it is - but I'm so lonely, I have no one to talk to anymore. Everyone's just disappeared on me, or is long distance, or...something. I don't know. I called my ex to make sure everything was okay on their end. Boy was THAT a mistake on my part. It made me miss what we had; it made me miss "us". Sure, yeah, it's pathetic and I need to just get over it and realize that things will never be the same, but there's still that glimmer of hope that always keeps me going. I guess it isn't as much of a hope that we'll get back together as it is that we'll at least be friends and talk again. My ex is rather entertaining and I miss our discussions about politics and religion and every other taboo thing we used to talk about. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed everything. Things won't be the same, I know that - but maybe I can at least talk to my ex on a civil level and see what happens. If I'm older and we're both interested again, who knows. Right now, I just want to be friends. There was almost this deep, dark pit of resentment that I had when we got off the phone. So I hung up and just curled up in my computer chair and cranked Mudvayne until I forgot it all...until I blocked it all out and could act like nothing happened. Because nothing DID happen...but it felt like I was being stabbed. Maybe because I miss my ex, I don't know...but I want these damn female emotions to stop. Or maybe it's not a female thing; maybe it's just a human thing. Either way, I'm sick of it. It's good to be in my room again, at my computer, with my keyboard, my music, everything. Being in a motel is nice, but there's nothing nicer than being in a familiar place. Especially when you're in the kind of mood that I'm in. If I had my way, I'd just sit here and listen to Kittie and eat hot fudge and do nothing until I felt better. I might gain a few pounds, but it would do me some good. I'd prefer gaining weight, anyway. Oh well. Maybe things will lighten up over the next couple of days. I hope so...if things don't, I'll have to write a complaint to the man upstairs. He's walking too loudly at night and people are trying to sleep. Yes...my pathetic attempt at humor...ain't I just so clever? Well...I have to finish writing in my book...I want to see if I can make the 19,000-word mark today. 275 words to go. It won't be a problem, that's cheese. I've already written over 1,200 words today, in a half-hour. Which is a long time, but most of it was freestyle. It's hard thinking and then writing it out at the same time...if that makes sense. So 275 words is nothing. And besides - there are enough violent, morbid thoughts in my head to write twelve full-length novels, plus an editor's note. Can you imagine what the editor's note would be? "Sorry about the violence, folks - I was pissed off and in charge of a keyboard and an MSWord document, what can I say..." For some reason, something tells me that would sell. That's business in America for you. Maybe the writing can be postponed until later...I have a sudden urge to work in Poser. I want to see if I can tweak a texture to get it to fit what I have in my head, or maybe combine textures. Or...something. Wow, this is cool, I totally feel empowered and ready to work in Poser for a while. Huh, and I thought I was going to get off this document and write in "Slayers". You can't really guide inspiration, I guess...oh well. Poser it is. And then, of course, the book...mustn't forget about the book, that comes before anything else...except this Poser image... Poser. Then book. Or...maybe I should just get the 275 words done and over with, and then work on the image. Eh, I'll figure it out. Get back to you later, Diary. -Summer, age 15