I cannot sleep. It's probably due to all of the late-night partying I've been doing lately, but the fact remains. I'm sitting here in my skivies and a quilt, with two questions on my mind:
1-Am I being watched? Yes, it's creepy, and out of all the possibilities, very unlikely, but I have quite the overactive imagination, and about a month ago I read a story in some fashion magazine about a woman being stalked. Which, in my opinion, would suck.
2-How often am I going to have these mortal moments? I've caught myself quite a few times in the past few weeks absolutely euphoric at the prospect of being alive . I love being young and stereotypically happy because of all the people I get to be with every day--extroversion to the fullest. Elle really exemplifies it. The other day we stayed after to read in the library and afterwards spent about 15 minutes straight laughing because of some joke--which, in and of itself, wasn't all that funny. But then after each fit was seemingly over, one of us would snort or make a face or almost fall off the bench or realize that we were about to pee our pants and it'd start all over again. And it felt so wonderful to just laugh and laugh and be as loud as possible and wonder how many people could hear us screaming hysterically down the hall, and who would smile, and who would pretend they were too good for laughing out loud, and who would be startled and drop something, then immediately pretend nothing happened [like i do, when i do something stupid] and this last thought sent me on another tangent of "haha hee hoooo ohhh ha ha ha ha ha" and on and on and on. And how many times am I going to dance around in my underwear, making pouty faces at myself in the mirror, and how many times am I going to hear Ali say in her sleep "yes, that's a very beautiful perfume mmph mmmphh", and how many times do I get to hear all of the boys crack up in unison one room over? Because it's all so worth it, and I can't get over how beautiful and worthwhile our lives are.