Because Nelson asked what happened and told me I'm the realest.

Avery told me this sounded like an English teacher's orgasm. I said good, because I hated writing it and pretending my friendship had any deeper meaning other than insanity and insomnia. But whatever, it got me an A.

Who Needs Lullabies to Sleep? (AKA How Our Friendship Got Me An 'A' on my Personal Narrative)

“Put on some pants.”

That’s how late night adventures with my friend Ben always start out. I tend to have an extreme aversion to pants in general and this is something Ben and I have in common. Knowing this, whenever the desire for a late night escapade hits, one or the other will begin the night with those four words. “Put on some pants,” one will demand and the other will always comply, ready to start off on yet another ridiculous adventure.

Usually these adventures take place at an absurd time, between the hours of midnight and four in the morning. There aren’t many activities to do at night - nothing is ever open past ten. Because of this, we often have the task of improvising an activity that most people wouldn’t even consider in the daylight, not to mention in the wee hours of the morning.

On one such evening we had wandered into Wal-mart, as per the usual (since Wal-Mart and McDonald’s unfortunately are the only establishments open at the hours we are awake) after donning pants and backpacks. We were browsing the aisles, not looking for anything in particular, only hoping that tonight we might find something interesting to occupy our time or give inspiration to the night. Innocently we passed by aisle after aisle until one shelf managed to catch our attention. Our eyes fell upon the boxes of sidewalk chalk stacked neatly one on top of the other in a display of impressive grandeur beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. Ben quickly snatched one of the boxes from the stack with excited eyes.

“Now with new bright colors,” he read off the green box, the yellow lettering bubbled and nearly as cheery as his voice.

“How many are in there?” I asked, straining up on my toes to read over his arm.

“Twenty.” We looked at each other and the wheels in our minds began to turn each other’s as we both reached a conclusion at the same time.

“We’re buying them,” I announced. I took the box gently from his hands and placed it with the other miscellaneous items yet to be purchased. “It’s a present,” I said quickly when I could see he was about to protest. Ben grinned, big and childlike. The art major in me was already thinking up ideas of how to use these twenty blessed sticks of chalk and I could see he was doing the same. The night seemed vast and endless in that moment, waiting only for us to find the perfect slab of concrete to cover in colors and shapes from our imaginations.

After leaving Wal-mart, we headed back up to campus and set out for the tunnels on the south side of campus that run under the highway. These tunnels are covered in chalk drawings done by students much like ourselves who want to embrace the inner child within. We settled on the second tunnel we visited and decided on two panels of cement right next to each other. My brain was filled with infinite ideas as I opened up the box. I stared blankly, wondering how we were ever going to decide what to draw. Ben was much more confident than I and taking up a piece of chalk, began to scratch away at the cement and slowly cover it in color.

I could only stand back and watch. He took simple chalk meant for children and turned it into something great and beautiful. Blues and reds mixed to create a whirl of colors, shaping out the galaxy in his head. Ben soon noticed my lack of participation and turning, threw the chalk in his hand at me.

“What are you doing? Get to work!” he snapped, his words and actions contradicting the large smile on his face. I could only laugh and after returning his throw, get to work as he said. We colored and scraped away at the cement before us, turning gray to bright hues of greens and pinks, purples and yellows. What had once been a plain wall was turning into a massive array of planets that to anyone else probably wouldn’t look like much, but to us was a symbol of our nighttime adventures.

By the time the once-blank panels were finished, we had managed to disintegrate all but three of the pieces of chalk down to mere lingering dust on our fingertips. We stood back, taking in the beauty of our creation and shared a high-five. Though we had not done anything physically strenuous, our lungs were heaving as though we were out of air. It was exhilarating in a peaceful way I can’t really explain. We had barely spoken any words to each other the entire time we had been creating, and what words were spoken had hardly mattered. What did matter was this drawing that would never be as bright as it was to us in that moment. Collaborating without words, understanding without trying to. I felt our friendship had become invincible in that moment, just from throwing some chalk on a wall.

The night could only last so long, however and eventually everyone has to sleep, including us insomniacs. We left that tunnel and made our way as warriors of the night across our abandoned campus. We were champions, unstoppable and capable of anything. We could steal a golf cart or sneak into locked back doors or throw sticks and yell like banshees. It didn’t matter, because we had the night and no one else owned it like we did. We said our goodnights and goodbyes finally sometime after three in the morning knowing that the other wouldn’t go to sleep for at least another hour. As I slipped out of my chalk-stained pants I couldn’t help but smile. I knew that once the next night came, Ben and I would set off on another adventure to conquer the night once again.

I don't have my ears pierced anymore. Two fell out because I'm a restless sleeper and the other two I got too frustrated with to manage anymore. I'll try again when I have money.

 I failed my Sociology 3200 class and maybe I wouldn't have if I had actually gone to class more than the 20ish times I did. It's okay, I only owe $600 and need to retake the class. (By which I mean it is very much not okay and I'll probably hate myself forever but I shouldn't talk like that.) Just to get a bit more real, my grades this semester were A, B, C, D, and F. Like. How did I even do that? I don't know. But it happened. Spring makes me depressed.

Actually continuing off that, summer gets me depressed too. I just want fall to be here so I can be happy again. But let's face it, when am I ever really happy?

My hair isn't red anymore. It's sort of blonde with orangeness and it just looks bad and I want to bleach it again soon so it just goes away.

I feel like I'm completely fake, but I guess I'm not. Maybe my fakeness is what makes me real.

I met a new boy and he makes me laugh and really really insecure at the same exact time. I'm not sure how to feel about it, other than nervous.

I still like that stupid boy with the stupid piercing and the stupid smile and the stupidly clever laugh and he won't fucking date me and it makes me extremely frustrated with life and it just makes me want to simultaneously kill and kiss him.

I still can't spell for shit. You'd think college might've helped me grow up. Nope. Hoorah for spell check.

Twitter is my life.

"Don't even look at me" - how I feel every single day since I started getting fat again (aka since summer started).

I've never been insecure about my stretch marks, but every time I go to the store and see that cream that supposedly makes them go away, I wonder if maybe I should be insecure about them.

I just don't know what I'm doing with my life and I feel like I'll never accomplish anything on my own without piggy backing on someone else's dreams.

Do I even have dreams of my own?

I don't even know anymore.

I just want someone who will hold my hand. I don't even care about anything else.

I'm pathetic.

My room is the messiest room in my house and I've cleaned the majority of those other rooms but refuse to touch my own. What is wrong with me.

I'm so excited to move to my own apartment next year.

I've filled out 92 job applications since I moved home and not one person wants to hire me and it makes me want to cry but I just try not to think about it because my anxiety is best left alone.

I need a person for late night phone calls with no life like me.