The summer has been slipping by at a langourous sort of pace. I want it to speed up a little, so I can get to the juicy parts, so I can race to the finish, because there's a nice prize at the end of it all.

All day I lie around, accomplishing nothing but seeing friends, having good dinners (Menotti's) and watching nice shows (Ballet Under the Stars). I also write reportedly cute emails to my boyfriend, that discuss the possible anorexia of Strawberry Shortcake, among other earth-shattering things. I miss him far too much, and I can't wait to hug him and hold his face in my hands. If there is anything I live my life for, it is for those small and basic things.

I contemplate my future, and its murkiness, and my lack of skills and clear direction. I think I want to double major in History and English, but I am unsure of how I will accomplish this. I worry that I will have to read and write until quotes and words and facts and blood comes pouring out of my ears, but then I remember that my dream has always to be filled with knowledge, or at least a container of fact and poetry. It informs my many of my experiences readily, and makes me feel less useless as a human being. I want to know everything about every civilization, I want to be well read and not bored by certain authors.

I bought a lot of books I haven't read, as usual, because I have no discipline. I think I will endeavour to make myself read next week in Phuket, if I can tear myself away from babbling to Christine about strange, adult things. Kurt Vonnegut, Colette and Jeanette Winterson await me patiently. Life demands that I allow it to begin.