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September 17 Wednesday

Ms. Smith asked me again about submitted an essay for the Young Writers of America contest. I dance around the topic, hoping she would give up, but no such luck. She took her request one step further and actually assigned the contest topics to the whole class. Obviously I didn�t glare hard enough because she smiled the whole class period.

So, now on top of everything else, I have to write 500 words on An Early Childhood Memory that Impacted My Life, My Ancestral Background; A Brief Synopsis, or The Career Path I�ve Chosen and Where it May Lead.

Ha.

Let�s see, I have absolutely no interest in giving a brief synopsis of my family history and I have no idea where I�m going in this life, so I guess the first one will have to do.

My earliest childhood memory that impacted my outlook on life was when I was two. My mom dropped me off at the babysitter�s house and there were a bunch of other kids there. I had to go number two, but I was scared because who would wipe my butt? I finally couldn�t hold it any longer, so I went to the bathroom and then had to yell for the lady to come help me. But she wouldn�t come. So, I yelled and yelled and yelled. I don�t remember what happened after that, but I did learn to never go number two if mom wasn�t there until I could wipe my own ass.

I think I have a chance of winning this whole competition and scoring an A.

Only two more days until the football game. My stomach is in knots and I know I�m getting my hopes up about Josh being there. Even if he is there, who�s to say he will remember me. He may even be embarrassed.

I would just stay home, but I want to see him again so bad, just to see if something was or is there. Plus, Amy would drag me kicking and screaming if I told her I was chickening out.

All that�s running through my head is that cheesy line from Young Guns when the Oriental girl says to Keiffer Sutherland, �I keep the flower you gave me in a little place in my heart. In my head, you ask me to dance.� Or something like that, except mine is, �I keep the Solo cup we shared on my dresser. In my memories, you pump the keg for me.�

I think I�m losing my mind.



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