Okay, well . . . maybe, then.

Alright. So I said I'm not a fan of blogs, because they're rants, etcetera etcetera, blog blog blog. Even the word "blog" just . . . bugs me. So then I rant about blogs. But I'm done now. Fact is, I started my own out of sheer boredom, and not because I have anything to SAY to the world, because anything I feel like I want to say that I can't say normally, I can't say in a blog either because duh. I can't say it. So moving right along . . .
As I said, I'm bored. And not JUST bored, I mean monkeyfudgesucking bored. I sit in this ridiculously sterile library waiting for my lunch break to end and I read comics online and just . . . wait. (Okay, that wasn't fair to the library. It's actually very nice. If you're trying to study every world language and have no interest in literature, because there isn't any. Except in languages other than English. And it's not that I'm opposed to other languages, I just don't understand what they say to me.)

What I'm actually doing is waiting for Dane. Dane has his own blog (definitivedane.blogspot.com) and is the reason I started one and and is a very tall man with a broken heart. His lunch break starts about 25 minutes after mine does, so I wait for him, and then we go find Sarah, whose lunch break starts one hour after mine does and therefore (hold on . . . ) 35 minutes after Dane's. Sarah is the one who broke Dane's heart, but we all still eat lunch together. (I usually eat some kind of pasta and what they call salad, Sarah eats weird things like cottage cheese with sugar, and Dane eats his own heart. Not literally.)

For awhile, directly post-heartbreak, lunch was a little forced and awkward; Sarah laughing too loud, Dane being too polite, and me being . . . me. "Me" is very antisocial . . . actually, I'm always like that, which is why it's "me," and so I just wouldn't really listen to the fake conversation that the "adults" were carrying on; I'd just watch the TV across the room (I can't really see it that well . . . my vision sucks) and sometimes say something random and caustic, which is what "me" does when "me" actually speaks.

These days lunches are much more comfortable . . . the only subject that is taboo (at least for "me" to mention) is Sarah's new boyfriend, Caleb. I'm not allowed to mention him because if I do, Dane feels that I am making a deliberate effort to hurt everyone else, because he is still feasting happily on his own heart (Dane likes being a victim) and Sarah would be hurt by me hurting Dane. Also because if I say something about Caleb, it's probably got something to do with how Sarah spends all her time now with Caleb and not with Dane and I, and Dane thinks that those comments are aimed at making Sarah feel bad. (Maybe they are. Like I said, "me" is pretty caustic. And stuff.) Sarah, however, does not feel especially hurt if I hurt Dane. She doesn't usually notice. Sarah is an extraordinarily nice person, and she surely would feel bad, if she realized that Dane was hurt. But she usually doesn't, because she's also an extraordinarily oblivious person. (I maintain that it's because she's an optimist and doesn't ever see bad things; Dane maintains that she's living in a dreamworld where she thinks everything can work out perfectly and everyone can be happy.) However, Sarah knows already that "me" doesn't like Caleb, and so if I mention him, she takes everything I say in the most negative light. (This is my fault; I said she was an optimist and a nice person and it's all true, but my sarcasm, bitterness, and negativity has pushed her beyond human limits, even for extraordinarily nice humans.)

Contrary to possibly given impression, we actually usually spend lunchtimes quite pleasantly these days. Dane makes fun of me for being time-conscious (my watch alarm sounds at 1215 and then again at 1220, because it's about a ten-minute walk back to my classroom and I like to be a few minutes early), but the truth is that I'm very much unconscious of the time, and that's why my alarm is set. We meet outside Sarah's building, we walk to the dining facility (I like the word "facility;" is that weird?), we go in, we eat, we talk (well, they talk and I stare at the TV . . . and sometimes say something caustic . . . ), and then my alarm sounds, Dane mocks me, and we go check our little mailboxes, and then Dane and I walk back to class and Sarah does . . . whatever Sarah does. The fact that her lunch break starts an hour after mine dictates that it also ends an hour after mine. And Dane's. Dane's lunch break is shorter than mine because of his class level; we both end at the same time.

Well . . . now Dane's here . . . checking his email . . . (funny; yesterday he said he only checks it once a week, but he checked it yesterday, and it's still the same week, so that bastard lied to me!!! Just kidding . . . geez . . . ) We still have awhile to wait; it's only 1232 and Sarah doesn't come outside until 1250, and hopefully she doesn't bring Caleb with her . . . That only happened once, and it was before Dane had met him, which means it was just shortly post-heartbreak, and the whole stairwell went very awkward for about ten seconds until Caleb kept moving. I don't like Caleb . . . this might be because I never like my friends' boyfriends or it might be justified . . . I like to think it's justified . . . I have reasons (but as I said before, things I can't say in real life I can't blog about, and my primary reason for thinking Caleb and Sarah should not be together is a dirty little secret of Caleb's that Sarah told me and since it's a dirty little secret . . . I can't tell) . . . but he really does seem to be a generally nice guy. It's just that Sarah is, again extraordinarily nice, and I don't think generally nice is anywhere NEAR good enough.

Not that sex is a bad thing, but I'm personally rather opposed to it extramaritally. (Is that a word? Dictionary.com says no. Dangit. It is now, melonfruitshuckers!) Caleb is used to getting some (I think probably more than just some) from his girlfriends. Sarah does not give any. Anyway. It's go time. And by that I mean it's time to go. Find Sarah. That was abrupt, hey?

P.S. Sarah won't even let me put her pictures on Shutterfly.com, so she probably wouldn't like being profiled in a blog, and Dane probably wouldn't appreciate the bits about his broken heart, so do me a favor and don't tell them I wrote this.