Dear memory,

You make me weep uncontrollably sometimes.  In fact, I am on the verge of tears right now.  (Okay, I can't blame you--it's probably the sleep deprivation.)

Still, you have me thinking through inexplicable sequences.  "Dog fence" somehow made me think of third grade, and typing just now made me think of getting my first laptop, which is tied to immediately signing onto AIM with it and messaging Zack.  Zack, who is in San Francisco for an internship and who's birthday is very soon.  Maybe I will write my letter to him on his birthday.  That would be cool.

Oh.  Right.  Stay on track.  It's hard with you, memory.  You're always dragging me away to the darker recesses of mind, grudging up unpleasant thoughts, like how my 8th grade English teacher yelled directly at me when she was addressing the whole class.  The class that was misbehaving.  It had something to do with crackers during the FCAT.  The FCAT that I passed but Kai got a 6 (perfect score) and she gloated about it.  That same awards night I didn't get the President Award and it went to my nemesis instead.  While all my friends were in shock, I kind of expected it.  I'm great, just not in the way that garners public adoration.  That doesn't mean I'm not popular either.  What is the difference between popular and well-liked anyway?

Enough of this.  I'm going to bed.  I read that sleep is good for you memory.

Complexly,
Lizzie