I haven’t had a real meal today. I ate three canned biscuits this morning at Karen’s apt. and then had cake and fruit at the “meeting of the elite,” as I have come to call our Wed. afternoon “class.”

Maybe I should eat something. I feel like I’ve had too much caffeine. I’m chewing my thumbnails to oblivion.. Maybe I should learn to sit and meditate. In fact, that would probably be a good idea.

Greg used to teach ballroom dancing. Which, I suppose, makes him Mr. Perfect. I’m not sure whether he likes to camp or not.

I was at Karen’s this morning because I spent the night at their apt. She talked me into going across the bay last night with her to hear her friend Dana’s concert. I made pesto at the apt. for her and Nicki, who just had an appendectomy last week and is walking kinda slow and having a hard time laughing. Then Greg came over, and we all went over to Fairhope to hear South’s choir. Paul met us all over at the Waffle House over there afterward. That’s what life is all about. Sitting around, drinking coffee and talking. At least, that’s when I’m happiest. Usually. I couldn’t decide what to get to eat, so I ordered a large O.J., coffee, and a chocolate milk. When we got back to the apt., Greg, Karen, and I stood outside and listened to Greg talk about philosophy and life and love. Love is what life is about, you know. We ARE. We exist. We “be.” God is BEING. God is also love. That’s the whole point of everything, to love. To love and be loved. That’s all there is. Everything else is just details. We can talk all we want to about lofty things or not so lofty ideals, but it all comes down to love. Only it gets so confusing sometimes.

I was in the backseat on the way back, thinking about…. something else… not really listening to Karen and Nicki and Greg discuss something. During a lull, Greg turned to me suddenly and demanded, “Why?!” “Because of hormones,” I said, answering the question within my own mind and figuring it wouldn’t be too far from what he was asking, since he’s a self-proclaimed pervert. He nodded slowly and then said, “Yeah, yeah, I guess it is.”

Karen made up the sofa with sheets and blankets for me, and I took out my contacts and laid down blind with my t-shirt and underwear on under the covers. She and Liz and I talked about the evening of philosophical discussion. “Nicki asked me,” Karen said, “‘Why do you and Joanna hang out with Greg?’ ‘I dunno.’ ‘Greg likes one of you,’ Nicki said, ‘and I’m gonna find out which one it is.’” We tried to determine what kinda chick Greg goes for. “Stupid,” said Karen. “But… who would he talk to?” I asked, knowing that Greg HAS to talk to something or somebody. “I think he’s more interested in sex,” said Karen. “Oh, he’s male,” observed Liz. I had to agree. Liz can’t stand the fact that ever sentence Greg utters slaughters the English language. Yet he’s far more widely read and much more intelligent than Karen or I.

He wanted to know where “Bitter Greg” came from. “Maynard,” Karen explained, “It was sort of a first impression thing, like ‘Genius Paul.’” “I don’t want to be ‘Bitter!’” Greg exclaimed back. “What DO you want to be called then?” I asked. “I dunno. How ’bout ‘Cowboy’?”

Last night was the first time Dana had met “Bitter Greg.” Karen thought he would piss her off because he annoys Paul too. “But, Paul likes Greg,” I said. Karen explained, “Yes, Paul likes Greg, but he annoys him at the same time. Just like Paul annoys Greg, but he likes Paul.”

I said “damn” last night in public. I’m feeling bad about it.

Liz and Karen said that Stephen had called me a freak once, which they found quite odd because he usually can’t find anyone admittedly odder than he is. Karen had spent the evening talking about how freaky Liz is, so when we got back, I immediately told Liz that we’d spent the evening talking about what a freak she is. Then Karen had to say that we’d decided EVERYONE was a freak so that she wouldn’t get upset. I didn’t care. I call Liz a freak all the time. I’ve been calling her a freak since first semester freshman year. She says that as long as I’m around, she doesn’t have to worry about looking odd, since there’s someone freakier than her.

I don’t know. I was thinking this past week that Karen and Greg might should get together. But… I think Karen deserves someone better. I mean, Greg’s a great guy and all, but… I dunno.. I tend to get protective of my female friends. I want them to marry Mr. Wonderfully-perfect-kind-gentle-protecting-gentlemanly-supporting non-jerks. Jerks are bad. Though, I have a feeling I’m going to be stuck with one, since I tend to be attracted to abrasive people. I think Karen is taller than Greg anyway. There just aren’t enough Mr. Rights in the world. Why is that? Why do men have to be such jerks?

Sunny called last night to talk to Karen about French and Wes, with whom she’d just had a huge fight. Wes is a poli sci major and a nice enough guy. Well, okay, he’s not nice enough. He makes a good classmate, but they fight too much to be together, in my opinion. I mean, if a couple fights a lot while they’re dating, how can they ever hope to achieve peace in their marriage? I know Sunny isn’t perfect, no one is, but… I dunno.. Maybe I should just chill and let people I know marry jerks.

I’m tired. Spring break is next week. My plan is to read Moby Dick and sleep. Wait, wasn’t that my goal for Christmas vacation?

As I was eating a biscuit in Karen’s kitchen this morning, I looked at the graduation memo on the door of the freezer. It was saying that women should wear dresses that are not longer than the robes, and to wear black shoes. And suddenly it hit me. My Converse High-tops are black! I could wear them to graduation!