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I had a horrible nightmare last night. I can't remember exactly what was so frightening about it because I can't remember the details. There was this dog, or was there more than one dog? I don't know. I don't remember, and it's not important.

Today was like any other day: wake, dress, school, home. My life is usually always this boring, and I'm sure the majority of everyone's life is boring. You're probably thinking about telling me, "Your life is only boring because you're so focused on it being bored," or some crap like that. Guess what. I've tried focusing on my life being fun, and I hated it. I hated it immensely. I'd rather have a boring, normal life than a fun, "thrilling," life.

It was this past Saturday, which was -- well -- yesterday. A few friends and I went to the mall; I'm pretty sure it was me, Joanne, Ralph, and Ruth. [Joanne and I would used to constantly make fun of the fact that "Ralph" and "Ruth" sounded funny when said next to each other -- until it got old.] We all wanted to go see a movie, so we just picked a random one. I'm sure Joanne was objecting, thinking about how she'd be late for her piano recital; as little as she was [about five inches shorter than me], I never suspected her fingers could move gracefully enough for the piano. She always walks and acts with a roughness to herself. I've never seen her play the piano before, though; maybe she's a devious little devil. She does seem to pause a lot between her words and rarely look people in the eyes. Still, what does it matter if this little brunette didn't play piano? Oh God! I went off on a small rant about Joanne and got off track. Where was I?

Oh yeah, we buy some tickets for a rated R feature [We didn't know it at the time.]. Now that I think about it, that ticket-seller -- college kid, probably -- wasn't too bright. I'm sure he assumed we were all at least seventeen or something; we're all sixteen, except for Ruth. She's seventeen, but she looked fifteen; she gets extremely pissed off when people call her "kid" because she thinks they're making fun of her or some s**t like that. Anyway, we go inside, and the ticket-taker asks for our IDs to make sure we're really old enough to go see the movie. Sure enough, none of us have any; it's not as if he's going to let us in if we show him driver's licenses that say we're sixteen years old, and Ruth was a sweet friend and not going to ditch us.

We pretend to leave, and we sneak into the feature. Joanne had apparently gotten Ralph nervous...probably told him we'd get caught or thrown in jail. Some s**t like that. Ralph always went with whatever the last person said or did; if someone cried, he got depressed. If someone was angry, he got mad at nothing. Truthfully, I don't know what goes on in that head of his, but he's a pretty cool guy when he's not tempted by other people's actions or words or emotions. [Damn, I really have a bad habit on getting off topic!]

My heart's racing as we sit down because I'm sure the wave of nervousness toppled onto me. I turn around to see if anyone is coming. You must be an idiot if you don't know what I'm going to say next. Well, it's not my problem I'm smarter than you and better than you; deal with the facts, and get on with life.

I got a small tirade from my parents, so I'm grounded for a week -- no more mall or friends on the weekend or after school. If none of this would've happened, I could be hanging out somewhere instead of in my house. The moral of the story: thrilling is getting caught is boring.

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