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Wednesday, Feb. 09, 2005
6:45 p.m.
<< [
797-PRAY ] >>

The floor is hard, cold, dirty beneath me. The lockers I'm sitting against are hard and unforgiving. A lock jabs into my spine.

I'm staying after school for four and a half extra hours. Musical auditions. Not that my audition is so late; I'm just there because I don't want to be at home. Because I don't want to be dealing with people.

Because I'm tired of trying to explain.

I'm sitting on the floor, I'm standing up, I'm turning cartwheels, I'm giving a girl a piggyback ride, I'm looking at pictures, I'm sitting against a mirror, I'm striking a pose, I'm drawing cartoons, and all of it in the company of people I barely know.

The worst part is, I'm loving it.

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